Disentangling
by Gwdihw
Summary: 1926. Jimmy and Thomas are living in London and trying to make to make their relationship work around their difficult lives and jobs. Lady Rose is interested in striking up a friendship and Thomas receives something odd from a stranger which Jimmy wants to get to the bottom of. Sequel to Making Do. M in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

June 1926

'You'll be fine, flower,' Ophelia told Jimmy as she carefully fixed the false lashes onto her eyelids.

'I know,' Jimmy said quickly. Glancing around to make sure no one else could overhear, he dropped his voice to a whisper. 'But what if I'm not?'

Ophelia, who had once confessed to Jimmy after several glasses of rum that her Christian name was Agnes, turned away from her stunning reflection and gave him a fond look. 'Alistair wouldn't have given you the lead if he thought you couldn't do it – and nobody's got an eye for talent like Alistair.'

Jimmy nodded numbly and tried to rake a hand through his hair but it was too stiff with pomade. Ophelia smiled kindly, stood up and kissed Jimmy on the cheek; she smelled of powder and lavender. 'You'd better make your way out.'

Ophelia was right, of course. Somehow, Jimmy navigated the lead in the play, sung in perfect pitch, spoke with tremulous emotion and even heralded a standing ovation. Ophelia held his right hand and Liam his left as they bowed, the audience cheering.

'Didn't I tell you! Didn't I just tell you!' Ophelia said as soon as the curtain lowered for the fifth time, hands on her hips. 'There you were, all a dither for nothing!' She rolled her eyes dramatically and pulled Jimmy in for a hard hug.

'Well done, Jimmy,' Liam said, shaking Jimmy's hand and gripping his shoulder.

It was exhilarating. It was only about ten minutes later, when they were back in the dressing rooms, that it fully hit Jimmy how well it had gone. He felt his face stretch into a grin so wide it might tear his face in half.

'I was good,' Jimmy said. 'I was actually really good!'

'I'll say,' Liam told him with a bright grin. 'Did us all proud!'

'Standing ovation, not bad for an opening night!' Alistair roared, striding into the room, hands flying in excitement, followed by the tiny, dark-haired Tilly who did their make-up.

'You were all wonderful,' Tilly said with soft admiration, sitting shyly on Ophelia's knee. The contrast between them was striking: Ophelia, curvaceous and titillating with a cascade of strawberry blond waves and bright red lipstick, and Tilly, small and boyish with big, serious eyes and short wispy black hair.

Someone, amidst the shouts and laughter Jimmy wasn't sure who, produced a bottle of cheap white wine which they referred to as Champagne; Jimmy, after working as a footman, knew the difference.

He wondered what Thomas had thought, his stomach clenching happily at the thought. They'd been together for four years and lived together for the last year of that but he still anxiously awaited Thomas' approval.

'Is your dashing boyfriend joining us for the after party, Jimmy?' Ophelia asked, a glass of 'Champagne' in one hand and the other pressed on Tilly's hip. Even now, it still struck Jimmy as strange that they could discuss such things openly. It was like being in another world.

'He should be. I told him to come backstage as soon as he got the chance.' Jimmy glanced at his new wristwatch – Thomas had eyed it distastefully, saying they were a fad and would never really replace pocket watches, but Jimmy liked it. 'He should be here by now.'

'Well, don't let it stop you celebrating,' Liam said cheerfully, refilling Jimmy's glass.

_But where was he?_ The spirits in the dressing room were so high that Jimmy tried to ignore his uneasiness and join in with the jokes but it was difficult. _He probably just had to go straight back to the Sheridans to see that everything's ship shape. I'll see him tonight after he finishes._

'We'll have none of that long face,' Alistair said seriously, pointing a finger at Jimmy. 'I don't want my star looking like a wet Wednesday afternoon.' Jimmy quickly smiled, but it was forced and shallow.

Thomas didn't turn up, but they were honoured by another, more surprising, guest instead. Jimmy recognised the pretty, flighty blonde instantly.

'Lady Rose!' he said, standing up automatically. Her hair was an airy frizz and her coral pink dress finished a couple of inches above her knees.

'Don't be silly, we're not at Downton,' she said dismissively. 'It's just Rose – and,' she glanced around at the rest of the cast and sighed happily, 'I thought you were all absolutely marvellous tonight. _Absolutely_. I said to Tim that I was _sure_ it was you throughout the play,' here she turned to address a subdued-looking man standing several feet behind her whom nobody had noticed until that point, 'and when we found it that it _was_ you, I simply had to say "hello",' she finished, beaming excitedly. No doubt she thought that being in the presence of thespians terribly exciting and modern.

'I suppose that the family are in London?' Jimmy asked, only just stopping himself from tagging 'milady' on the end and trying not to stand so stiffly.

'Yes, it's that time of year again,' she said with a small frown. 'I used to _so _look forward to the season when I was younger but I find upper class people increasingly boring – except for you, of course, Tim, darling,' she said, tossing a sunny smile over her shoulder. 'He's shy around new people but he's terrific fun once you get to know him. And a much nicer person than his brother, Larry.'

Something stirred at the back of Jimmy's mind. 'Larry Grey? Who put something in Mr Branson's drink?'

Tim Grey's neutral face twitched into a frown at the thought of his brother's actions and Rose nodded solemnly.

'Anyway, the reason I'm here, apart from giving my congratulations, is to invite you to a party Saturday night after you finish your show. It's at a nightclub called 'Blue Gem' on Harlington Avenue. I'd love it if some of you could come,' Rose said with clasped hands. Refusing her would be like refusing a child sweets.

'I'm sure we'd love to,' Jimmy said politely.

'How thrilling!' Rose said, squeezing Jimmy's hand. She offered them all heartfelt goodbyes before floating off, dragging quiet Tim in her wake.

Ophelia raised an eyebrow. 'She's like a little butterfly.'

'In so many ways,' Jimmy agreed.

'Well, I'll go to her party if I get a few free drinks out of it,' Liam said. 'But I hope she doesn't expect to parade us around like her new pets. I know what that lot can be like. They like us to entertain them but there would be riots if one of us were to marry their children.'

'Rose is a good egg – she's not like the rest of them,' Jimmy defended her quickly. 'She might be wrapped up in cotton wool but she treats everyone the same.'

Liam made a noise somewhat like a snort. 'We'll see.'

He went to pour Jimmy another drink but Jimmy stopped his hand. 'I'm heading home. Need my beauty sleep,' he joked, kissing everyone on the cheek before they left. 'See you tomorrow.'

The air outside was sultry as it so rarely was in England; it was the sort of night where you had every window open and slept in naked abandon. Jimmy enjoyed the walk home, his coat slung over his arm.

When he got there, to their little flat on the third floor, Thomas was already asleep, lying on the ancient couch they had salvaged fifth-hand, still wearing his clothes, obviously having tried to wait up for his lover. He had purple shadows under his eyes and his jet hair was now showing streaks of silver that he was more self-conscious about than he let on, but to Jimmy he was utterly beautiful.

Quiet as a cat, Jimmy pulled Thomas' shoes off. Thinking it was a good thing that Thomas always left his uniform at work because he wouldn't wrinkle it sleeping, Jimmy kissed him on the forehead and let him sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy was woken up early by Thomas jostling about in the kitchen. Struggling to pull himself into a sitting position and yawning dramatically, he saw Thomas dart past the wide-open bedroom door, deftly doing his tie. A few seconds later, he walked past again, tearing massive chunks out of a hunk of bread with his teeth and swallowing them whole.

'Were you never taught to chew your food?' Jimmy teased while secretly being aroused; there was a feral, wolf-like aggression in his movements.

Thomas glanced at him without seeing and his tone when he spoke was curter than Jimmy cared for. 'Where's my cap?'

'I don't know,' Jimmy answered coolly. 'Is it by the couch? Might be it fell off when you were there last night.'

Silence. Moments later, Thomas strode past, cap on his head and yanking his coat on.

'What's with the foul mood?' Jimmy called out.

Thomas let out a noise which was more like an angry snarl than anything else. He paused from getting haphazardly dressed and latched onto the doorframe.

'I'm tired. It's early... and I'm tired.'

Jimmy had nothing to say to that. The fact that the Sheridans had not minded Thomas living away and coming in at six every day had seemed like a godsend at first but they had proved themselves to be demanding and shrewd middle-class employers who liked to wring every drop possible out of their employees.

Standing up, Jimmy reached to massage Thomas' shoulder but he jerked away before Jimmy could even touch him. 'I need to leave now or I'll be late.'

Jimmy should have left it be; he should have allowed Thomas to work through his irascibility – but at half past five in the morning people rarely make the most sensible of decisions.

He padded nakedly after Thomas, looping an arm around his waist from behind and inhaling the sandalwood scent of his neck.

'So, how was I last night? Do you feel privileged to be fucking such a talented man?'

The silence on Thomas' end was taut, almost painful.

'What?' Jimmy insisted. 'Didn't you like it?'

The stillness in the air felt like the strings of a violin being stretched beyond their natural elasticity. Jimmy let go of him, cold realisation dawning.

'You didn't see it.'

'Jimmy –'

'You _promised _me,' Jimmy cut across. He hated how shrill and childlike his voice always sounded when he got himself worked up but he hated being lied to more. Irrationally, tears started to well in the corner of his eyes and his chest was bound tight by an invisible bandage.

'I bloody well tried!' Thomas shouted, so loudly that it startled them both. Visibly trying to control himself, he shot a rueful look sideways: it would not do to give the neighbours cause to complain, and yelling matches at half past five in the morning were pretty reasonable causes to complain in anyone's book.

Thomas closed his eyes and drew an anguished breath. 'Mr Sheridan promised me a couple of hours off. I haven't had a half-day in three weeks in order to have that time free. You know that.'

Jimmy did know that but his bitter disappointment would not let him admit it. He turned around and went back to bed.

'Leah got sick – she couldn't get out of bed. There's only the two of us so it makes a big difference.'

'I understand,' Jimmy said, his voice hollow.

'Then some visitors turned up unexpectedly, which there should be some sort of law against if you ask me.' His voice was rising again.

'Don't shout,' Jimmy muttered.

'I couldn't walk away or that would've meant losing my job!'

'Right.'

Silence again. Still blinking back tears, Jimmy didn't trust himself to speak.

'Don't sulk!' Thomas snapped.

'I'm not.'

Thomas laughed; it was a sarcastic sound which he seldom used on Jimmy.

'Well, I'll be off to slave for fifteen hours straight while you lounge about like Lady Muck.'

'You don't think I work hard?' Jimmy asked, but Thomas had already slammed the front door behind him.

Jimmy did not go back to sleep but he found he could not move either. He stared at the ceiling taking shallow breaths for half an hour. The frustrating thing was that he _knew_ that Thomas had tried his best to see the show as well as he knew that there would be plenty of other opportunities for Thomas to see him act – yet it still tasted like betrayal.

Eventually, he had to move; he needed to be at the theatre by ten to prepare for the matinee performance. He dragged himself about the flat feeling supremely sorry for himself until he saw the single white Gardenia on the kitchen table with a note in Thomas' hand.

_For the star of the show!_

Not having been put in water, it was wilting. Jimmy rushed to fetch a vase.


	3. Chapter 3

Jimmy arrived in work bedraggled, having been caught in a sudden, violent shower. Ophelia tutted as he waddled, dripping, into the dressing room.

'It serves you right for being ten minutes late,' Ophelia told him loudly, closing her eyes for Tilly to powder her nose. Ophelia was half-dressed with her underwear and corset on display, one red silk-stockinged leg crossed over the other. Jimmy made sure to concentrate on her face – Tilly was a quiet little thing but rumour was she got jealous easily.

'I'm not that late,' Jimmy argued, pulling his jacket off and catching the towel that one of the other actors threw towards him.

Tilly brought him his costume and he changed hurriedly.

'You've left your hair wet, silly,' Liam said, grabbing the towel that Jimmy had left draped on the arm of the chair and towelling his hair roughly. 'You're lucky our Tilly can fix that mop for you!'

'There's nothing she can't do,' Ophelia said with a self-satisfied grin.

'So, will Thomas be joining us for a few drinks tonight?' Liam asked, loitering next to the mirror, still holding the towel.

'I'm not sure. He's very busy at work because the tweeny's sick,' Jimmy told him. It was nice that Liam showed an interest.

'That's a shame,' Tilly said sympathetically. 'Ophelia, you need to stop scowling while I do your eye make-up or it'll be ruined.'

'Sorry, dearest,' Ophelia said, instantly smoothing her expression over.

While the ladies sorted out their elaborate hairstyles and frilly dresses, Jimmy and Liam helped move some of the heavier props into position.

'Bet old Tom thought you were out of this world yesterday,' Liam said as they struggled to carry one of the wooden trees between them. Jimmy didn't particularly like it when he referred to Thomas as 'old Tom' but it hardly seemed worth starting an argument over.

'Well,' Jimmy said, feeling himself blush. 'He wasn't exactly able to come. He did his best, obviously.'

'Obviously,' Liam agreed.

'I'm not sure if he'd even want to come tonight,' Jimmy muttered ruefully to himself, but Liam reacted immediately.

'What happened?'

'Nothing,' Jimmy told him hurriedly. 'Just had a bit of a disagreement this morning. That couch can't have been comfortable and it made him grouchy.'

Liam didn't respond immediately – he busied himself arranging the paper flowers on the set before turning and looking Jimmy directly in the face.

'He sleeps on the couch?'

'No – well, not usually,' Jimmy tried to backtrack, getting flustered. Before he could explain, Alistair stormed out of nowhere, demanding they hurry up and get backstage.

Liam clapped a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. 'I'm here if you need to talk,' he said with maddening patience before walking off in the opposite direction.

Performing the play put the conversation completely out of Jimmy's mind. He'd been worried that performing the same lines night after night would become monotonous, but in every other part he'd had, even the small ones with only a handful of lines, the last night had been just as exhilarating as the first. Being on stage and allowing himself to become the character, and convincing the audience that he was that character, was still the most liberating experiences he had ever had.

Well, (and here his brain reminded him of a few nights ago when he and Thomas had fucked senselessly, culminating in Jimmy clutching at Thomas' hair as his seed spilled on his lover's soft, rosy lips) _that_ was very liberating, too, but being on stage was liberating in a different sort of way.

'Come on, let's skedaddle and get our lunch before Alistair hauls us out to sign some autographs,' Ophelia said. She'd changed into her own clothes but hadn't bothered to wash the make-up off her face; more than once, she'd been called a tart on the street but she never seemed to mind.

'Let's get some fish and chips,' she suggested once they were outside. 'I should be watching my weight, I know, but I've been awfully good this week and I'm far too much of a hedonist to stay away from naughty food for very long. Besides, I have an unusual hankering for chips today.'

'An unusual hankering, you say?' Liam said, raising an eyebrow. 'Couldn't be pregnant, could you?'

'Liam, my flower,' Ophelia drawled, blithely ignoring the gaggle of lads outside the factory giving her eye, one of them asking loudly how much she charged. 'You're more likely to be pregnant than I am.'

The handful of cast and crew who'd joined them smirked as Liam rolled his eyes.

They had no sooner wolfed down their chips and returned than Alistair started getting them ready for the evening performance.

'No rest for the wicked, I'm afraid,' Tilly said, her nimble hands tightening the ladies' corsets, and sewing and snipping costumes as needed.

* * *

'You were extraordinary,' the most beloved voice in the world said, loaded with emotion. Jimmy spun around to see Thomas in the dressing room. He'd hardly dared to hope that Thomas had been in the audience that evening. Not wanting to embarrass himself in front of everyone by swooning like a maid or leaping into his lover's arms, he contented himself with grabbing Thomas' wrist affectionately and rubbing circles into it.

Thomas, always handsome, seemed three times more attractive than usual in his best suit and trilby. Some of the chorus girls had started making eyes at him less than subtly, fanning their overlarge peacock feathers and giggling in some sort of bizarre mating call. Jimmy put a protective arm over Thomas' shoulder.

'Are you having a party with your friends?' Thomas asked, tearing his eyes off Jimmy for a second and smiling politely at the other people in the room.

'You're welcome to join us,' Ophelia said, holding forth a glass of not-Champagne left over from the previous night for Thomas.

'Or we could just go home,' Jimmy said, giving Thomas' shoulders the tiniest of squeezes. 'I'm shattered.'

Reading Jimmy's cue, Thomas declined the not-Champagne and they left. Jimmy wilfully jammed his hands in his pockets on the walk back to stop himself from absent-mindedly trying to hold Thomas'.


	4. Chapter 4

'You're certainly putting a bit of effort in,' Jimmy said as Thomas rearranged a bunch of oxeye daisies in a vase – he had never been a fan of them himself, considering them a rather childish-looking flower, but they had definitely lifted the atmosphere of the small, dark kitchen.

'Well, she was reluctant enough to come in the first place, so I need to prove her wrong,' Thomas said, his butler's eye for detail scrutinising the rest of the room.

'Why was she so reluctant?' Jimmy asked.

'Well – she says she's happy that I'm happy, and I believe her – but I gather that actually visiting our nest of sin is a bit much,' Thomas said with a wry smile.

'What is she expecting? Naked men hanging in chains from the ceiling while we smoke opium in dresses?'

'You have the most glorious imagination,' Thomas said a little wistfully, glancing upwards. 'I don't think the ceiling would hold.'

Jimmy grinned and pulled Thomas forward by the neck, kissing with casual complacency; Thomas was his to take whenever he pleased. Jimmy explored his lover's mouth with his tongue, tasting the mint and tobacco on his lips, and – without really meaning to, because it had become instinct – he pressed himself against him. Thomas was delightfully sturdy and immovable, and he would never give Jimmy an inch.

They might have gone further; Jimmy's body was already reacting, stirring with need, and it would not have been the first time that they had made love on the kitchen table. They were interrupted, however, by an infuriating knock on the door.

Thomas pulled away, resisting Jimmy's attempt to hold him by biting down on his lower lip. He kissed his younger (and currently disappointed) lover on the forehead.

'Put the kettle on, will you, darling?' Thomas said as he headed for the door.

'Right on time,' Jimmy heard Thomas say as he led Baxter into the kitchen – Jimmy was still having trouble thinking of her by her first name. She had not changed much in three years; she still had an air of slightly endearing helpless nervousness.

'This is very nice,' she said quietly, looking about the kitchen. 'Small but you've made it quite cheerful. And tidy.' She sounded mildly surprised.

'We cleaned up all the empty bottles of gin and opium from our sex parties before you arrived,' Jimmy told her cheerfully

Baxter smiled at him before sitting down at their table. 'How considerate,' she said dryly.

'How is everyone?' Thomas asked.

'Well, Mr and Mrs Bates have had another baby, a girl – Daisy's met up with Alfred a couple of times while we're in London. We all think he's going to propose before we head back up to Yorkshire.'

Thomas rolled his eyes. 'She deserves better.'

'A lot of people never get what they deserve,' Baxter said. 'How's life here? Are the Sheridans treating you well?'

Thomas shook his head grimly, lighting a cigarette and playing absent-mindedly with the lighter as he spoke. 'I feel like one of the horses from Black Beauty. One of these days I'm going to collapse and they'll cart me off to be made into glue.'

'Aren't you the drama queen?' Jimmy sighed, pouring hot water into the teapot. 'You should join me on the stage!'

'I don't think so, somehow,' Thomas answered.

'You never know,' Baxter said. 'Maybe you'll have inherited Lenore's talent. She always loved playing Mary in the Nativity – not that acting was as glamorous back then as it is now, what with all the film stars.'

'Well, thirty-seven is probably too old for a career change, anyway,' Thomas said. 'With any luck, I'll be able to stay at the Sheridans for a while.'

Something in his voice made Jimmy concerned. 'Is there a reason you wouldn't?' he asked, but Thomas just shook his head dismissively. He was starting to look grumpy so Jimmy quickly changed the subject.

'So, any changes in staff recently? Any interesting new people?' Jimmy asked Baxter.

'Nobody important. A few hall boys and scullery maids. Although there's speculation that Mr Carson's going to be retiring soon,' she added.

'Carson? Retire? I thought he would keep going until he keeled over halfway through serving dessert,' Thomas muttered.

'Well, he's not been too well,' Baxter admitted. 'His heart condition has been acting up recently and Dr Clarkson said that if he continues to push himself he'll get seriously ill.'

Thomas laughed dryly. 'Imagine. If I was still there, I might have taken over from him. It would've been the natural thing to happen. I would be his lordship's right hand man.'

Baxter's eyes flickered briefly on Jimmy's as they shared the same thought. It had been agreed years ago that they wouldn't tell Thomas that Robert Crawley was his biological father but they both felt slightly guilty about it.

'I have some other news,' Baxter said as she accepted a cup of tea off Jimmy. She had the air of a woman steeling herself. 'Oliver's dead.'

Thomas looked down into his tea and shrugged. 'Do you expect me to be upset? I only met him a handful of time.'

Jimmy's brain was whirring before he remembered who Oliver was. 'Your brother? In the army?'

'That's right,' Thomas said. 'He left home before I was born.'

'He was a good boy,' Baxter said. 'He was the eldest. He inherited most of our parents' things – not that there was very much, mind. Trinkets and things.' She looked intensely at Thomas who was still looking into his tea. 'The funeral's a week today in Barkingside if you can make it.'

Thomas exhaled sharply and tapped ash off his cigarette. 'I barely knew him. Still, if it means time off work, I'll go to the funeral and look sad for half an hour.'

Baxter shook her head and took another sip. 'You could at least pretend to care,' she scolded, as though he was still the little boy she'd nurtured.

'I didn't think I needed to pretend with you. I suppose Charlotte and Daniel are going?'

Baxter nodded. 'It's been an age since I've seen either of them.'

Baxter left not long after that with the excuse that she would be missed by her ladyship; Jimmy fancied that it had something more to do with Thomas' increasingly frosty tone.

'You don't seem interested in seeing your brother and sister again,' Jimmy commented as he washed the cups, doing his best to keep his tone casual.

'You mean my aunt and uncle,' Thomas said, putting his shoes on. It was his half day but the Sheridans wanted him back by eight. 'They were never very fond of me. Now I know why – they might have been away when I was born but I daresay they guessed the truth. It wouldn't have been difficult for anyone with half a brain.' He sounded bitter.

'You couldn't have known,' Jimmy said quickly, anxiously.

'Either way, I need to go – and I doubt the Sheridans care much about my legitimacy as long as I get their silver shining brighter than the sun,' he said with forced lightness. He squeezed Jimmy's arse and winked before leaving. 'You better wait up for me.'


	5. Chapter 5

'I'm definitely invited?' Thomas asked as he adjusted his trilby in the mirror.

'It's Rose's party,' Jimmy said, standing behind Thomas and resting his chin on the taller man's shoulder. 'And she said I could bring who I liked – although some of the other toffs might be put out.'

'Well, I don't mind that,' Thomas dismissed. 'I enjoy ruffling feathers, I just want to make sure I'm not kicked out like some stray dog. That would be embarrassing.'

Jimmy smiled and, nuzzling into Thomas' neck, allowed a naughty hand to meander downwards and rest on Thomas' crotch. 'You know, there's such a thing as being fashionably late.'

In the mirror, he saw Thomas raise his eyebrows in amusement. 'It's the hat, isn't it?'

'That is a very fetching hat,' Jimmy agreed, rubbing Thomas roughly and, to his delight, he felt the cock hardening promisingly in his fingers. Thomas let out the tiniest of moans and closed his eyes briefly.

'We'll crease our clothes,' Thomas said, pulling Jimmy's hand away and kissing it.

'What's the matter?' Jimmy teased. 'Struggling to keep up with me in your old age?'

Thomas looked vaguely annoyed as he headed for the door. 'You know that's not it. Come on.'

Trying not to sulk, Jimmy followed him. Childish as it was, he could not help but loathe being told he could not have something.

* * *

'I'm thrilled you could make it!' Rose exclaimed as soon as she saw Jimmy. It had taken a while to find her – considering it was a private party, you could hardly move for all the people.

'Blue Gem' was not a very large nightclub, and the low ceiling and dark colours gave it a very intimate feel. Guests huddled about small tables with excitingly bright cocktails while, on stage, a jazz band played lively music, and people danced wherever they could find space. Jimmy started tapping his feet happily; this was his sort of place.

Rose held her hands out in a 'ta-da' motion. 'Everyone, this is Jimmy Kent – Tim and I saw him perform at the Vaudeville earlier this week and he was magnificent!' Her eyes wandered over to Thomas and lit up with interest. 'And you've brought Mr Barrow along! I'm so glad that the two of you are still friends!'

She turned to introduce the people she was currently with: the shy Tim and arrogant Larry, and their father, Lord Merton, who looked very much like a fish out of water in the current environment. To Jimmy's surprise, Isobel Crawley was holding on to Lord Merton's arm.

'Hello, James,' she said with a bright smile. 'Lord Merton told me that his sons were going to Rose's party and I thought to myself, "what fun!" and had to insist that we join them. I'm glad to hear how well you're doing – it's terrific to hear about young people achieving their dreams.'

To her credit, she smiled at Thomas as well. 'I hope you're well, Barrow. I thought it most unfair what happened at Downton.' She tactfully avoided saying that he had been fired, and Thomas inclined his head to acknowledge what she was saying.

Thankfully, it was the sort of party where you did not spend too much time talking to one person. After only a couple of minutes of polite small talk, Jimmy and Thomas were free to wander away. By then, more people than ever were dancing, doing moves which would have been absolutely shocking ten years previous.

'Reckon we should try that?' Jimmy said to Thomas, elbowing him subtly and signalling to a couple who had their hands on their knees and were zig-zagging their legs wildly, the woman's skirt travelling slightly above her knee.

'Do you want to get arrested?' Thomas asked sharply.

'What, for dancing?' Jimmy said incredulously. 'Besides, I was only joking.'

Thomas was still watching the dancers. For a second he looked devastatingly sad. 'How does Lady Rose know? That look on her face when she saw the two of us together…' he trailed off and shook his head.

'She put two and two together,' Jimmy said with a shrug. 'Ages ago. It doesn't matter, does it?'

Thomas laughed bitterly. 'No, of course not! What could possibly go wrong?' he asked with exaggerated sarcasm.

'She won't tell anyone,' Jimmy insisted, feeling insulted on Rose's behalf. She might be flighty but she wouldn't betray him, they were friends; but, knowing what Thomas' reaction would be to calling an aristocrat a friend, Jimmy kept quiet.

Before an argument could break out, Rose darted out of nowhere and grabbed Jimmy's wrist.

'Do you mind if I borrow him for a minute, Mr Barrow?' she said with high excitement. 'But there are some directors here that I simply _must_ introduce you to, Jimmy!'

Before Jimmy knew it, he was being tugged along by her surprisingly strong hand and shown to a certain Mr Vidor who appraised Jimmy as though he were a horse he was considering buying.


	6. Chapter 6

Talking to Rose's posh friends and influential people in the acting business was daunting, even with Dutch courage; Jimmy had quickly realised that the cocktails, while looking innocent and tasting mostly of sugar, were actually lethal.

'Are you sure I'm what they're looking for, Rose?' Jimmy said sceptically. He'd finally managed to start saying her name naturally, without the urge to call her 'lady'.

'Who knows what they're looking for,' Rose said. 'Only they know, and it might be you!' she said.

Before they could get very deep into this conversation, a tall, auburn-haired man with a pretentious little moustache grabbed Rose's behind, making her squeal and bat his hand away. Realising that her interest had been diverted, Jimmy craned his head to look about him, trying to find some familiar faces in the crowd. Thomas was nowhere to be seen, but he did manage to catch a glimpse of some fellow actors, including Liam, who was making the most of the free drinks.

Liam and the others grinned at Jimmy as he approached, shuffling aside to make room for him in their little circle. They were trying to look relaxed and unimpressed but Jimmy could tell that most of the others felt as out of place as he did.

'That posh friend of yours said that there are film stars here – and directors on the lookout for new talent,' a boy called Hywel said excitedly to Jimmy. He was a spotty youth of around eighteen whose chin sloped off into oblivion. He played a handful of minor characters in their performance with reasonable ability but Jimmy doubted somehow that his was a face that they would be clamouring over to put on the big screen.

'Ah, you've made it, I see,' Ophelia said, arriving back from, presumably, the bar given the bright pink, cherry-garnished drink she was carrying. Ophelia herself looked no less outrageous in a magenta dress that showed her knees. Leaning over to Jimmy, she kissed him once on each cheek as a welcome.

'I should find Thomas,' Jimmy said eventually, after being given something bubbly and yellow and tasting vaguely of lemon by Liam. He scanned the surrounding area hopefully. There was one corner of the room which seemed smokier than the others, which seemed like a promising place to start looking.

'Don't go just yet,' Liam said, downing the last of his drink. 'The night is young!'

'It would be rude of him to leave Thomas if he doesn't know anyone here,' Ophelia said. She looked annoyed for some reason.

Liam ignored her. 'I can hardly breathe here – it's too hot. I'm going up to the roof terrace to get some air. Come and keep me company, Jimmy,' he said with easy nonchalance.

Jimmy shrugged and followed. Why not? It was getting stuffy with so many people, a large number of them smoking.

Surprisingly, they were the only two up on the rooftop. In the cool, still air and relative quiet, Jimmy noticed how drunk he had become – the world was spinning and slightly blurry. He gripped the railing.

'Steady there!' Liam said, his arm suddenly around Jimmy's shoulder in a way which probably was not strictly necessary to help balance him.

'I'm okay,' Jimmy said. 'A few too many cocktails.'

'You're not the only one,' Liam said. 'Those pretty things are killers. We should have stuck to good plain beer.'

Liam leant easily against the railing and stared out; Jimmy followed his gaze. They were quite high up and London looked beautiful. There were more electric lights than ever, making the city glow like a fairy kingdom.

'I always wanted to live in London,' Jimmy said, finding famous landmarks with satisfaction, as though they were his. In a way they were; he was a resident of London and so they were his to look at whenever he wanted. 'Ever since I was little, I knew that I could never really belong in a pitiful little village in the back of beyond.'

'London is a roost for every bird,' Liam quoted serenely.

'Well, it's mine, anyway,' Jimmy said, feeling inexplicably happy. He loved his job, he had wonderful friends, he lived in what he firmly believed was the most glorious city in the world (in spite of how highly Thomas spoke of New York), and he had found his soul mate.

'You're grinning like a loon,' Liam said – he sounded amused. 'What are you thinking about?'

'About everything. About how I never thought I could be as happy as I am now.'

Liam laughed, looking more amused than ever. 'There's soppy you are. I never took you for the soppy type.'

'I'm not, usually,' Jimmy admitted. He didn't even mind being criticised at that moment – 'soppy' could be a badge he wore with pride. 'It must be the drink.'

They had left the door to downstairs open so they could hear the cheerful music wafting upwards. One song finished and another started, a fast, happy song which quickened the beat of your heart just to listen to it.

'I love this one,' Liam said with a clap of his hands. 'Come on, let's dance. Warm us up a bit!'

'Dance?' Jimmy repeated doubtfully.

'What's the matter? Don't you like dancing?'

'Everybody likes dancing!' Jimmy said, taking the hand he was being offered.

Liam was a good dancer, even better than Jimmy was; although, in retrospect, they might not have actually been dancing that well under the influence of a variety of spirits. Enjoyable as it was to be dancing to good music with a skilled partner, it felt undeniably odd to be holding a hand that was not Thomas' – Liam's was smaller and petal-soft from not having done any actual physical work in his life. He also smelled differently: his scent had a light, flowery note. Jimmy guessed jasmine but he could not be sure.

'You keep standing on my feet,' Liam laughed, though in truth it was only the second time it had happened.

'It's not my fault,' Jimmy said. 'Whenever Thomas and I dance, I usually take the girl part.'

For some reason, this made Liam stop laughing. 'Yes, I bet you do.'

He ought to have seen it coming, but Liam's lips suddenly on his were a complete and utter surprise, his soft little hands grabbing Jimmy's neck.

_A.N. 'London is a roost for every bird' was said by Benjamin Disraeli._


	7. Chapter 7

Jimmy made his way back down to the party, dazed and guilty and drunker than ever. The cocktails he had drunk far too quickly were catching up with him. Somehow, he managed to find his way back to Thomas, who was smoking and talking to Mrs Crawley; Jimmy could not hear the conversation but there was a strained politeness in Thomas' expression which suggested that he would have quite liked to have taken his leave.

Thomas caught Jimmy's eye, smiled, and instantly looked concerned. 'You look terrible.'

'Too many cocktails,' Jimmy mumbled, wanting more than anything to crawl into Thomas' arms and go to sleep there. 'They're strong.' That was quickly becoming the theme of the night. Don't trust anything that looked like it was painted by a child.

Thomas nodded, still frowning, and said goodbye to Mrs Crawley.

And then, somehow – God only knew how – he ended up in bed – and, somehow, it was morning all over again and the sun was a hammer between his eyes, his throat a barren desert.

Thomas brought him a cup of tea and an aspirin. He never could resist pampering Jimmy when he was sick, even if that sickness was self-inflicted. This made Jimmy's conscience, already prickling, feel worse.

'I'll make you toast,' Thomas said, rubbing circles into Jimmy's back as he threw up into a bucket.

'I couldn't stomach it.'

'It'll make you feel better,' Thomas promised. Before leaving for work he left thickly-cut toast with salty butter next to Jimmy, who was face-down in his sheets and praying for death or at least oblivion.

As much as Jimmy longed to stay in bed for as long as possible, he needed to get to work early to talk to Ophelia without anyone else around. Out of guilt more than anything else, Jimmy deigned to nibble on the corner of the toast.

By the time he got to work, he was feeling marginally better; the toast had indeed settled his stomach and the light drizzle outside was refreshing.

Ophelia turned away from the mirror when she saw Jimmy enter the dressing room. She had told Jimmy that she liked to be there early to make sure she had make-up on before anyone saw her, and the make-up they kept at the theatre was better than anything she could afford herself. Tilly would have to do it again before the show but that did not matter.

'You get to the stage, flower, when you feel positively naked with nothing on your face,' she had stated matter-of-factly.

That day, she had almost finished in spite of the fact that the first actor would not normally have turned up for another half an hour.

'This is a surprise,' she said to him, patting the seat next to her for Jimmy to sit on. 'Are you feeling particularly hard-working today?'

'I have a problem,' Jimmy said nervously.

'Pretty young things like you always do. I should know, I have half a dozen.'

'It's Liam,' Jimmy said, whispering even though they were alone.

He was expecting a gasp or for her hand to fly up dramatically to her chest – or at least some sort or reaction. After a few beats of silence in which she continued to put blue powder on her eyelids, she spoke. 'Well, obviously I knew he liked you.'

'And it didn't cross your mind to tell me?' Jimmy asked, a little irritated.

'I assumed you had eyes,' she answered archly.

Oh, well that was useful! Jimmy considering telling her that just because something was glaringly obvious there was no guarantee that he would pick up on it; that, however, would have led to a lengthy backstory, so he refrained from doing so.

'He tried to kiss me,' Jimmy said, hanging his head.

'What do you mean 'tried'? Did he succeed?' Ophelia asked. Apparently, this turn of events was fascinating enough for her to turn away from the mirror.

'Well – yes.'

'And did you kiss him back?'

'No – well – only for a second. It was instinct. I didn't know what to do. Then I came to my senses and pushed him away.'

Ophelia considered this, tilting her head thoughtfully. 'That doesn't sound too bad.'

'Exactly! I mean, what's a ten second kiss?'

'Ten second?'

'Maybe even eleven – I was too drunk to keep track. Oh, God,' Jimmy buried his face in his hands. 'I'm a very bad person.'

'To be fair, Liam's worse. How did he react when you pushed him away?'

'I'm not sure. I got out of there as quickly as I could.'

Ophelia nodded wisely as though confirming that was the best thing he could have done. 'Well, these things happen.'

Jimmy nodded numbly. He was not entirely sure if he felt better or worse. He had assumed that laying out the bare facts would relieve him of the burden, but in truth explaining the situation out loud made the line between guilty and innocent even blurrier. Maybe he should not have danced with Liam? Maybe he could have stopped the kiss earlier? Maybe, maybe, maybe?

'I really didn't know,' he told Ophelia emphatically.

'Can I ask you something? Why exactly are you trying to gain forgiveness from me?' she asked him.

Jimmy did the only thing he could; he put it out of his mind and concentrated on the show that he would have to perform, becoming the character. He was Jack Brown, a simple artist with a dream to paint the world a thousand colours, and that was all.


	8. Chapter 8

'You usually have a few hours off in the afternoon, don't you?' Thomas asked Jimmy. There was a jitteriness about him as he got ready that morning which was most un-Thomasy.

'At about three o'clock I'm free. Why?'

'Well, it would be too strange if you came to the actual funeral, but there should be a decent spread put on afterwards. If I have to put up with my family for a couple of hours, it would be nice to have you there.'

Jimmy nodded, feeling like an idiot. He'd completely forgotten about Oliver's funeral. That was the sort of important thing that boyfriends were supposed to remember.

After finishing the matinee performance, Jimmy walked over to Harley Hall, where the gathering was being held. As he walked, he had plenty of time to think.

That morning he had successfully avoided being alone with Liam, even for a second, and he had made sure to be cold and distant to him whenever they spoke. Hopefully, this was enough to persuade him that Jimmy was not remotely interested in embarking on an illicit love affair. Everything was going according to Jimmy's plan of fully intending to forget about the whole thing and act as though nothing had happened.

Harley Hall was a subdued little building nestled between a pub and a professional-looking assortment of offices which might have belonged to lawyers or accountants. Inside was worse; there were low ceilings, bad lighting and a general air of mournfulness which Jimmy did not find strictly necessary. While he understood that funerals had to be sad, he saw no reason for them to be dismal. Even the trestle offering pies, cakes and tiny triangular sandwiches looked forlorn.

Thomas and Baxter were sitting with what Jimmy presumed to be their brother and sister. Thomas' dark expression broke into a smile when he saw Jimmy striding towards them.

'Ah, this is Jimmy,' he said to the others. 'We work together. We're travelling to St Albans shortly to pick up packages for the family, so I told him to pop in for a few minutes rather than wait about outside. Mrs Charlotte Lynn and Mr Daniel Barrow,' he said to Jimmy, who hastily tipped his hat.

Jimmy supposed it was a sensible lie. At a glance, he could tell they were conservative people who would probably consider actors almost as far removed from decent people as 'degenerates' – or whatever word they would care to use.

'Pop in?' Charlotte repeated coldly. 'This is a funeral not a church fete.'

She was a tall, rather stately woman in her late fifties. Contrary to the fashion of the day, the neckline of her long dress was buttoned up nearly to her chin and her waist was cinched into oblivion. Her dark grey hair was scraped back into a knot at the back of her head. Baxter had once described her as pretty and charming as a young girl; while her even features and clear blue eyes might convince you that she had once been pretty, Jimmy's imagination could not stretch to believe that she had ever been charming. He supposed that a lifetime of babies would suck the charisma out of anyone and, according to Thomas, she had had at least thirteen that he knew of.

In contrast to his sister, Daniel was a wisp of a man with hunched shoulders and a narrow nose. He had nervy dark eyes that reminded Jimmy of a skittish mare and when he spoke to you he looked at a space some three inches above your head. His stubbled chin was completely grey but his hair still had a few streaks of dark brown clinging on - Jimmy could not imagine that _he_ had ever been pretty.

'What packages are you going to pick up?' Daniel asked, staring at Jimmy's non-existent halo.

'Some suits and dresses from the dressmaker,' Jimmy invented quickly.

'And it takes both of you to collect them,' Charlotte asked sharply.

'There are quite a lot of dresses,' Jimmy said. 'The Lady of the house of a bit of a fashion lover.' Jimmy had never met Mrs Sheridan, but from Thomas' description of her, this could not have been further from the truth.

'Is that so?' The look Charlotte was giving him was like being harpooned. It was a small wonder that Daniel avoided eye contact if he had grown up with that. Jimmy looked away, eyeing the plateful of sandwiches in front of Thomas and tucking in.

To break the slight awkwardness, Jimmy decided to make conversation. 'What was Oliver like?'

'He was a good man,' Charlotte said. To her credit, her hard face showed traces of sadness. 'He was hard-working and responsible even as a young boy.' Daniel nodded vaguely in agreement.

'Mum and Dad were heart-broken when he told them he was going to join the army,' Baxter said. 'They were convinced he'd be shot in some ghastly war, but he never was.'

'Obviously,' Charlotte said.

Jimmy listened politely to the family wax nostalgic about the first son of the family, all but Thomas, who never knew him.

It was almost time to go when the lawyer showed up. The food had mostly been eaten and the guests, after politely offering their sympathies, had left.

Mr McManus, as he introduced himself, was a well-built man who looked more suited to construction work than practising law, but his voice was clipped and educated.

'I am sorry to trouble you during this painful time.' He did not look the least bit sorry. 'But Mr Oliver Barrow's will is being read tomorrow at noon at my office.' Here, he handed everyone his card. 'As his former lawyer, it is my duty to tell you that Mr Barrow requested that his siblings all be present at the reading of his will. Good day.' He curtly nodded and left.

The interaction had been brief and Thomas' family all looked at each other, startled.

'He can't have had much,' Charlotte said doubtfully, turning the card over in her hand. 'But then, who else would he leave anything to.'

'He never married,' Baxter explained to Jimmy.

Thomas was silent for a few moments – then he shrugged and put the card in his pocket. 'I suppose we'll find out tomorrow.'


	9. Chapter 9

'Do you think Oliver will have left you anything?' Jimmy asked.

They were lying on the rug in the living room, Jimmy resting his head on Thomas' bare stomach. Thomas had finished work at a reasonable hour that evening, so they had had a glass of wine in front of the fire. The embers were dying low and the glasses were on the coffee table, the pools of leftover wine glimmering.

'Why else would he have wanted me there to hear it?' Thomas wondered aloud, stroking Jimmy's hair distractedly. Jimmy closed his eyes and nudged into Thomas' hand.

'I never thought he liked me – none of them did except for Phyl. I was five when I met him for the first time. He came home to visit on leave and I was terrified of him – a big, strapping soldier – I hid behind my mother for the best part of an afternoon. I don't remember him even looking at me during the visit. Then again, I doubt he was very good with children. A lot of people aren't who don't have any of their own.'

'You are,' Jimmy said. 'Miss Sybbie adored you.'

Thomas smiled. 'She'd be nearly six by now. That's strange to think. I wonder if she'd remember me.'

'If you could have a child, would you like a boy or a girl?' Jimmy asked impulsively. It was a strange question to ask but Thomas answered immediately.

'Girl. Although preferably one of each. What about you?'

'I don't know,' Jimmy said, frowning. The idea of having another human being in his care was too overwhelming to think about. He did not feel capable of looking after anything more complicated than a goldfish.

'I was almost married once. Did I ever tell you about that?' Thomas said softly.

Jimmy sat up. 'You certainly did not. Bloody hell, you kept that quiet!'

'I didn't mean to, I just haven't thought about it for years. All this talk of children reminded me.'

He looked casual, as though he had nothing more to say on the matter, until Jimmy prodded him in the stomach to continue.

'Fine, fine – ouch – her name was Cecilia. We were both eighteen and working at Haxby at the time, her as a housemaid and me as a footman. We were very good friends – same sense of humour. She'd do the most brilliant impressions of the upstairs lot. She kissed me a couple of times. We used to talk about the future a lot and somehow we ended up deciding to leave service and get married. I liked the idea well enough – we would have made a good team and I wanted children. The little masters were four at that point and absolutely adorable, always smiling and running about.'

He looked rather wistful.

'What happened?' Jimmy asked.

'The engagement didn't last very long; we didn't even tell anyone about it. I was too much of a romantic to marry someone I wasn't passionate about, and I was too fond of Cecilia to let her linger. I knew, even then, that in order to be with someone I truly loved, I would have to sacrifice having a family. I've never been flexible like you, see,' he teased Jimmy gently.

'Well, I'm glad if it means that I get to have you,' Jimmy said, pulling himself up and straddling Thomas' hips. He was suddenly determined to remind Thomas that he had made the right choice in choosing love and passion over children, even if, at the same time, he was desperately sad that he had had to make the choice at all.

Jimmy knew he looked good in the low, warm light of the fire; it complimented his complexion and the shadows defined the muscles in his arms and chest. It took only a few hard circles of his hips before Thomas was hard. Jimmy grinned, pleased with himself.

The friction of the fabric was delicious and Jimmy bucked, mewling a little in a way he knew Thomas liked.

Sitting up suddenly and wrapping his arms around Jimmy's shoulders, Thomas whispered in his ear. 'You better not make me ruin my trousers, these are my last clean pair.'

Taking the hint, Jimmy undid Thomas' buttons and pulled the trousers down, then quickly rid himself of his own. He straddled Thomas' lap again, kissing the pale skin of his neck and shoulders.

'Are we going to the bedroom?' Thomas asked.

'Now, why would we do such a thing as that?' Jimmy asked. 'When the rug is soft and the fire is still warm?' He nipped at Thomas' shoulder quickly in admonishment, leaving an angry redness behind.

Thomas responded by smacking Jimmy lightly on the arse. 'Now, don't go marking me! What would my employers say if they saw that?'

'Is there a particular reason why they should see your shoulder?' Jimmy asked, pretending to be alarmed. 'Do I need to be worried? What sort of service do you provide for them exactly?'

That earned him another smack, a little bit harder this time, enough to sting, causing an arousing warmth to spread through his skin.

'You need to learn to speak to your elders with respect,' Thomas scolded, but his eyes were smiling and his hand trailed away from Jimmy's cheeks to stroke his thighs.

'Hm,' Jimmy said, attacking Thomas' mouth, his tongue invading the soft, wet space. Thomas reciprocated, his hand slowly creeping further north. Jimmy knew from experience that he would not be rushed – any attempt on his behalf to hurry foreplay along always resulted in Thomas moving at an even more glacial pace than ever. He could barely stop himself from thrusting into Thomas' hands when the older man's fingertips gently grazed his balls, but his patience was rewarded when Thomas finally started pulling mercilessly at his cock. His deliciously rough hand curled around Jimmy's length, his eyes watching and his mouth slightly parted. Even after such a long time, he took pleasure in watching Jimmy's reaction. And then, Jimmy moaned, his head falling back and his fingernails digging into Thomas' sides as he came.


	10. Chapter 10

Jimmy was reading in bed by the light of an oil lamp when Thomas arrived home. He had always been warned not to use oil lamps if there was a danger of him falling asleep because they were dangerous to leave unattended, but Jimmy always did anyway. Jimmy was wondering idly how much it would cost to have electricity put in the bedroom when he heard the front door slam.

Jimmy crawled out of bed and peeked through the door. Thomas was pulling his coat off roughly and yanking at his tie; his face was thunder.

'Are you alright?' Jimmy asked. He tried to touch Thomas' arm, but the other man pulled away, his back to Jimmy. He sat down heavily on the couch, his elbows on his knees and his hands steepled.

'Talk to me,' Jimmy insisted. 'Please.'

'I wasn't even _mentioned_,' Thomas said, his voice hard and brittle. 'The lawyer said-' and here he made a pretty poor attempt at a posh accent ' –Mr Barrow addresses his living siblings, Charlotte, Daniel, and Phylis... I might as well not have existed.'

Thomas was standing now, pacing restlessly and glaring at the floor. 'I hate being ignored. Daniel got most of the money, but Charlotte and Phyl had his possessions shared between them.'

Thomas sank back down onto the couch, head in his hands.

Jimmy started to walk towards him but Thomas obviously did not want company. 'Don't touch me. Just go to bed.'

Now Jimmy was angry; he did not deserve to be shut out like this_. It's only a stupid will and I was only trying to comfort him! _

'Suit yourself then!' Jimmy said. He marched into the bedroom, curled up into an angry ball and pulled the covers up over his head.

Thomas was gone by the time Jimmy woke up the next morning, which made Jimmy feel even worse. He hated having tension between him and Thomas, and the fact that he had left without saying goodbye bothered him.

His low mood must have been obvious; he was asked by at least three people what the matter was. He even agreed to go for a beer at lunchtime with Liam, hoping it would cheer him up.

_I just need to get out and about. Nothing needs to happen. I bet he's invited other people, too._

As Liam grabbed his coat and beckoned Jimmy to follow, it became quite clear that nobody else had been invited. For reasons unknown even to Jimmy himself, he followed.

'Where are we going?' Jimmy asked, confused, as they walked past several perfectly good pubs and off the beaten track.

'A surprise,' Liam said, winking.

It was quite a walk, and Jimmy was about to suggest that they just pick somewhere else when they arrived outside what looked like a little cottage that had been renovated into a pub. Jimmy blushed as he remembered this place.

Liam smirked. 'I take it you've been here before?'

'Only once, out of curiosity,' Jimmy said. 'With Thomas.'

'Once?' Liam said in disbelief. 'You've lived in London three years and you've only been here once?'

'Well, we have each other,' Jimmy said defensively. 'So why would we want to find anyone else. I mean, that's what these places are for, aren't they?'

'Not just that,' Liam said, gesturing Jimmy inside. 'There's also a sense of camaraderie.'

Inside was just as Jimmy remembered: light and airy and pleasant, with laughter and general merriment. It was busy, even at this time of day.

'What do you want to drink, Jimmy?' Liam asked, sidling into a free space at the bar and grinning at someone he obviously knew.

'Dark, please,' Jimmy said, spotting the only free table and nabbing it.

By the time Liam arrived back, Jimmy had started suffering from a severe moral crisis. There was no doubting that everybody at the bar assumed that they were together, and any hopes Jimmy might have had of keeping things above board were dashed in this place – not two feet from them, two men were kissing with great enthusiasm and nobody batted an eyelid.

'Well, there's a pleasant surprise to see you, pet!'

Jimmy snapped his head in the direction of the speaker, knowing immediately who it was by the voice but praying he was mistaken. He was not mistaken. Looking down at him with great amusement, was a slender and delicate-looking man with china-doll features and masses of chestnut curls.

'Hello, Theo,' Jimmy said. Hoping he did not sound blunt, he added: 'I thought you were in Yorkshire?'

Theo 'tsked'. 'Ever unwelcoming. I'll have you know that I've not spirited myself down to London with the sole intention of ruining your day. It happens to be the school holidays.'

'Lovely,' Jimmy lied through his teeth. 'What a coincidence running into you in a city as big as London!' _Like being hit by a meteor._

'Not that much if you run in our circles,' Theo said thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side so that his curls shook. 'There are a limited number of these havens, even in our modern times and even in London.'

Theo smiled at Liam. 'Are you both actors?'

'Yes, I'm Liam Garwell,' Liam said, shaking Theo's hand as the latter introduced himself.

'Please, sit down with us!' Liam said with almost indecent zeal. Jimmy glanced sternly sideways, hoping he was not angling for a threesome. His relationship with Theo was complicated enough as it was.

'Ah, but I need to be leaving,' Theo said, still smiling as though he had been told an extremely witty joke. He took Jimmy's hand from where it was resting on the table and kissed it goodbye, as though Jimmy were a lady. Jimmy made sure to scowl at Theo's retreating back

'He seems like a fun sort,' Liam said.

'You could say that,' Jimmy conceded, taking a deep swig of his drink.

Liam laughed. 'Now, where were we before we were rudely interrupted?'

'We weren't anywhere,' Jimmy reminded, alarmed. 'We'd only just sat down.'

Liam smirked again. Jimmy was beginning to dislike that smirk, it was too self-assured.

Although Jimmy tried to move further back and angle his body away from Liam, they had limited space and it did not seem to make much of a difference. When Liam's hand squeezed Jimmy's knee and he leaned in to bite Jimmy's ear, Jimmy plucked up the courage to actually say something.

'I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea,' Jimmy said, wriggling away.

Liam frowned.

'I love Thomas,' Jimmy said. 'And that's the simple matter of it. I don't want anyone else!'

In spite of Jimmy's fervent hopes that things would not get awkward between them, they got awkward. The two men drank their pints as quickly as they could, with Liam shooting Jimmy the occasional sour look out of the corner of his eye. When they walked back to the theatre, Liam strode several yards in front of Jimmy so that he could not keep up.


	11. Chapter 11

Jimmy was in bed, trying to sleep. He had been lying in this same position, on his side with his elbow as a pillow, for over half an hour.

He heard Thomas come in, trying to be quiet, folding his clothes and closing the bedroom door gently. Yet when Jimmy felt the mattress sag under the extra weight, Thomas whispered: 'Are you awake?'

'No.'

Hands massaged into Jimmy's shoulders, running gracefully up his back, relaxing him and untensing his muscles.

'I'm sorry I was short with you last night.'

'You were upset,' Jimmy answered, softening. It was hard to be angry when his body was being traced by lover's hands.

'Yes – not about the will, though. That annoyed me, obviously, but something else happened.'

Jimmy turned around to face him, even though they could not really see each other in the dark. 'What?'

'The Sheridans are letting me go.' It was worded as though he were a small animal being released into the wild, but it was clear from his voice that this was not the sort of freedom Thomas wanted. 'They said that they would rather hire a housekeeper.' Amused laugh. 'They're too proud to admit that they can't afford the tax on male servants anymore. I'm to work until the end of the month and then leave.'

'Well, at least you've done nowt wrong,' Jimmy said. 'They'll give you a good reference.'

'A decent one, yes,' Thomas agreed. 'But there's a lot of unemployed people out there, plenty of them with good references.'

Jimmy pulled Thomas towards him, scooping him up in his arms. 'You'll find something,' Jimmy said, kissing his temple.

'I really don't know. The world's changing. Even in the past few years since you left service, it's changed – a lot of big houses don't even have footmen anymore.'

'Carson must be horrified,' Jimmy said thoughtfully, and he felt Thomas laugh, his body shuddering gently.

'We'll be fine,' Jimmy said firmly, even if, deep down, he wondered whether Thomas' doubts were valid.

'We,' Thomas echoed. 'You'll still want me when I don't have a penny to my name?'

'How can you ask? I'd love you if you were the richest or the poorest man in England. We're in this together.'

Jimmy squeezed Thomas tighter – Thomas' head resting on Jimmy's chest in rare vulnerability.

* * *

Jimmy managed to catch Ophelia at the end of the night on her own in the dressing room, applying carnal red lipstick. Most of the others had gone home already as it had been a tiring week.

'Why are you putting make-up on now?' Jimmy asked curiously, sitting next to her. 'It's nearly midnight.'

Ophelia winked at him. 'Tilly and I are going out for some drinks and I want to look my best. It's a special night,' she said mysteriously.

'I don't really see the appeal of lipstick myself,' Jimmy said. 'It don't look natural.'

'Oh, but that _is_ the appeal, flower. You can transform yourself.'

Jimmy looked doubtfully at the metallic tube. Then again, he had never seen Ophelia without her lips painted, so he could not judge how much of a difference it made.

With a naughty look, Ophelia grabbed Jimmy by the chin and pulled him towards her.

'Hey!'

'Sh! It'll suit you. This colour looks good on blonds – and brunettes, for that matter – and redhead and black hair. I can't think of anyone who wouldn't benefit from lipstick, actually.'

She let Jimmy go and he studied himself in the mirror. 'I look odd.'

'You look scrumptious,' Ophelia said.

Jimmy shook his head. 'There's something I wanted to talk to you about, to be honest.'

'Mm-hm.' She was doing her cheeks now.

'Well, you go to a lot of cocktail parties and thing like that, and meet rich people.'

'I meet rich people's children, that's not entirely the same thing.'

'Well,' Jimmy pressed. 'Do you think you can ask if anyone's looking to hire a butler of a valet?'

'I'll ask, but I'm not aware of anyone who's looking at the moment. Why? Not thinking of packing in this acting lark already, are you?'

Jimmy hesitated. Ophelia would not tell anyone, but he still did not want to go around airing all of Thomas' secrets.

'It's Thomas, isn't it,' Ophelia guessed, and Jimmy nodded.

She looked sympathetic. 'What about that friend of yours? Lady Rose?'

Jimmy brightened up. It seemed like a good idea. 'I'm sure she'll help if she's able to.'

It made him feel better – even if he did not actually find anything, knowing that he was doing something productive to help Thomas cheered him up no end. Plans were good.

Thomas had beaten him home for once and was boiling water in the kitchen.

'Do you want a—' Thomas stopped short, staring at Jimmy.

'What?'

'Your lips.'

_Oh God in heaven!_ He had forgotten to take the lipstick off. No wonder he had received so many strange glances on his way home. He did not need to look in the mirror to know that he was turning red; the heat was burning his neck.

His hand flew up to wipe it off but Thomas snatched his wrist away. 'Leave it on. It looks good.'

Jimmy was about to ask whether he was sure when he realised that Thomas was looking at him with a sort of primal lust that he had not seen in a while.

Thomas kissed him so hard that Jimmy had to step back several paces until he was pinned against the door.

_Bloody hell, I'm buying myself some lipstick tomorrow!_ Jimmy thought dizzily, Thomas' erection digging into his hip as they ground together.

Thomas pulled away and Jimmy gasped for breath, murmuring, 'Crikey!' The break did not last long; now, Thomas was spinning him around and slamming him against the door, his hands shakily undoing Jimmy's belt. Jimmy whimpered, pushing his arse back shamelessly.

It seemed to take forever to rid themselves of their trousers and underwear – but then they were free and Jimmy could feel Thomas' soft skin and most definitely not-soft cock pressing into his behind.

To his credit, Thomas still had time to hastily grab a make-do lubricant from the shelf; the bedroom might as well have been France at that point.

Jimmy bit into his forearms to muffle his cries as Thomas thrust into him – it stung. He was not used to being taken roughly, but the excitement made up for the discomfort – Thomas' breaths were ragged, shallow sighs, as though he were drowning, his fingernails burning as they clawed into Jimmy's sides.

It did not last long; it was so fierce that Jimmy thought any longer would have ruined him. Dazed, he leaned back, his shirt drenched with sweat, and Thomas kissed his neck with incongruous tenderness. It had been too intense for Jimmy to decide whether he liked it or not, his entire skin a buzz of electricity and his legs water. He glanced down to see himself holding his cock, the door spattered with white. The kettle was whistling crazily.

'Jesus Christ,' Thomas muttered, hugging Jimmy. 'I don't think I've ever taken you that tight.' A pause as he thought. 'I didn't hurt you, did I?'

'I'm alright,' Jimmy said. 'I'm glad I've got a day off tomorrow, though, because I'll be in no fit state for walking, let alone dancing.'

He felt Thomas smiling on his neck. 'I'll draw us a bath.'

'I don't know if I can be bothered with a bath,' Jimmy said. 'I just want to go straight to bed.'

'Oh, I think you need a bath,' Thomas said. 'For one thing, you have a liberal amount of syrup of figs inside you.'

'Syrup of figs? That's what you used?' Jimmy laughed. 'Why do we even have syrup of figs?'

'To be honest, I think it was here when we moved in.'

'Oh. I see. I have very old syrup of figs where the sun don't shine. That's going to be fun to clean!'

Thomas turned Jimmy around, which regretfully meant pulling out of him, and kissed him on the forehead. 'I'll clean you, darling, from head to toe. You just need to lie in the hot water.'

With that promise, Jimmy found that he might just be able to stay awake long enough to have his bath.


	12. Chapter 12

Jimmy had not expected his heart to quite literally stop beating for a moment when he woke up that morning.

He stared at the letter on the table as though it were his sworn enemy. What should he do with it? Should he burn it? Or had he better keep it in order to track the writer? It was written in neat cursive italic, which gave Jimmy the impression that the writer was an educated person although that may not necessarily have been the case.

Jimmy glanced at the candle on the kitchen table. It would be easy to burn it and Jimmy wanted nothing more than to have it out of his sight for good.

_You are being cheated,_

_Signed_

_A Witness_

He had found it on the garden wall that morning outside their flat. Pinned down under an ugly paperweight that you might buy as a tourist was a letter, not in an envelope, just folded in half.

_Thomas Barrow._

Of course, the correct thing to have done was take inside without looking – but when there was no envelope, curiosity got the better of him. It did not feel like an invasion of privacy to unfold a piece of paper.

There had been another piece of paper held loosely inside which had been snatched away by the wind, and Jimmy had been so transfixed on 'you are being cheated' that he hardly noticed; by the time he realised that it might have been important and looked around to see it, it had gone.

_Imagine if I hadn't looked?_ It sent a cold shiver down Jimmy's back. Even though he felt he had not _technically _done anything wrong, there was no denying the suspicious nature of the circumstances.

Anxiously, Jimmy paced the kitchen, still glaring at the letter. Impulsively deciding to destroy it, he lit the candle and held the paper above it until it caught flame and crumbled to ash. He felt better, laughing to himself in relief as though the problem had gone up in smoke, too.

Of course, it had not.

There was still someone out there who was trying to sabotage his and Thomas' relationship. He looked around warily as if he were expecting to see someone crouching in the corner, plotting craftily.

_Who would do such a thing?_

Then: _It must have been Liam!_

Did Liam want Jimmy for himself? He had seemed to accept Jimmy's refusal the day before, if somewhat ungraciously – but what if he had thought that getting Thomas out the way would leave Jimmy free to fall into his arms?

Either way, Jimmy needed to get out of the house so he could think properly. He swept the ash away, slightly regretful of having burnt it; perhaps it could have been used as evidence.

A walk in the park should clear his head – and it would have had he not been accosted by Mrs Crawley and Lord Merton

'Aren't the roses just delightful at this time of year,' she said to Jimmy, oblivious to Jimmy's desire to be alone and Lord Merton's obvious desire to have her all to himself.

'Yes, ma'am,' Jimmy said, having no opinion whatsoever on the roses.

'Of course, they're not nearly as lovely as the ones we had up in Yorkshire, are they?' she said wistfully. 'Old Mr Moseley had such a _knack_, don't you think?'

Again, Jimmy agreed.

'Have you ever seen the roses in Downton?' she asked Lord Merton, who looked glad to be remembered.

'Yes, delightful, as you said,' he agreed. 'Even when I visited as a boy, I couldn't help but appreciate them.'

Jimmy managed to wildly invent an errand he had to do before the talk turned to hydrangeas and daffodils, and left the happy couple discussing Yorkshire flora through the ages.

_You are being cheated. _It made Jimmy feel dirty. He was not a cheater. The only thing he was guilty of was wanting a little company of someone who found him attractive after he and Thomas had argued. He never intended to do anything.

Jimmy wished that it had not been a day off. He wanted to find Liam that very moment and tell him to stop being so rotten. Or maybe he should be nicer, coaxing? _I'm terribly flattered but I couldn't possibly…_ Maybe that would stop him sending another letter.

But what if that did not stop him? What if he was maliciously bitter after being rejected and made sure the next letter was put in Thomas' hand? Perhaps he was that sort of person.

One thing Jimmy was certain about. Should the worst happen and Thomas find out, Jimmy would not let him go without a fight. He absolutely would not let Thomas walk out of his life.


	13. Chapter 13

'Why are you trying to destroy my happiness?' Jimmy shouted. He had not meant for the words to burst out aggressively like that. He had fully intended to take the diplomatic approach, but his nerves had got the better of him and he was displeased to note that his voice was at an unmanly high pitch.

Liam, who was reading over his lines, his mouth moving silently, glanced up, startled.

'What are you on about?'

'The letter!' Jimmy said in a dramatic hush.

Liam shook his head disparagingly and looked back down at the page. 'Again, I need to ask: what are you on about?' His bored drawl suggested that he was not particularly interested in the answer.

'You didn't leave a note for Thomas saying that we'd kissed?' Jimmy asked.

Liam snorted. 'You're not worth _that_ much effort, you know.'

He returned to his script and swivelled around in his chair so that his back was to Jimmy; the conversation was clearly over.

Jimmy was stumped.

He remained stumped for several days until Thomas inadvertently reminded him that there was someone else that knew, or at least had to suspect, what had happened.

'The bloody Sheridans,' Thomas snarled, striding into the kitchen where Jimmy was cooking a lamb stew. They had discovered within the first two days of living together that Jimmy was the far superior cook, in spite of his occasional grumbling that it was a woman's job. It was unfortunate that Thomas tended to burn, over season, under season, ruin the consistency of, serve raw, or in some way mangle whatever recipe he tried to follow given that he would have dearly loved to cook for Jimmy – as it was, he settled for feeding him his own food.

'What?' Jimmy asked. They had already taken his job off him; Jimmy did not see what else they could have done.

'My half day tomorrow? No longer a half day!' he fumed. 'They're making me come in because "it's such a busy time for us at the moment, Barrow".'

'Tell them no.'

'And give them an excuse to fire me on the spot instead of keeping me until the end of the month? Fat chance! They're hoping I'll do something wrong and save them a bob or two.'

Jimmy wordlessly offered Thomas a cup of tea. He knew from trawling the papers that there were not many positions for a butler going at the moment, or even a footman. There was a good chance that Thomas would have to change career completely or accept an inferior position – and anyone who knew Thomas at all would agree that he would rather take a bullet to his other hand than go down the ladder.

'Can you do me a favour?' Thomas asked, taking a sip of his tea as a tacit sign that he was not entirely beaten. 'I was supposed to be meeting Theo tomorrow morning – he's in London for a few weeks.'

Jimmy bit back an 'I know'.

'Anyway, it's too late to write to him to rearrange a day, so can you go and explain everything?'

Jimmy agreed, vague stirrings of doubt prickling his mind as he thought of Theo. Thomas had always been upfront about the fact that he was still in contact with his former lover, and firm about the fact that there were no lingering romantic feelings between them. Jimmy had tried to believe him but he still found it very difficult to believe that Theo, having once loved Thomas and planted delicate kisses all over his marble skin, was content to only have friendship.

'Oh, and another thing,' Thomas continued. 'I keep meaning to ask where that castle came from?'

He was pointing at the paperweight which had pinned down the accusatory letter; Jimmy had been stupid enough to leave it on the kitchen table.

'It's mine. I bought it,' Jimmy said quickly, with what he hoped was a casual insouciance.

'From where?'

'Oh, years ago,' Jimmy invented. 'When I went on holiday to-' _Bloody hell, where are there castles?_ Britain must have had thousands of castles but he couldn't think of any. _Dover? Cardiff? Lincoln? _'- to Warwick. I was looking through some of my old things the other day for a pair of clean socks and I stumbled across it. I thought it would make a nice piece of decoration.'

Thomas shrugged, seeming to believe it, and Jimmy relaxed slightly. As a professional actor, he really should have been a better liar.

The next day Jimmy set off to meet Theo with the air of a man readying himself for a duel. It was a rather a let-down to discover the restaurant address that Thomas had scrawled down for him was not a gladiator arena but part of a small and slightly dated hotel where, Jimmy presumed, Theo was also staying.

Theo was already at a table, smoking daintily over a newspaper.

'Well, that's a shame,' Theo lamented when Jimmy had delivered the message. 'Where are you going?'

Jimmy had been backing slowly away from the table.

'You might as well stay, now that you're here. I do detest eating by myself.'

'Alright,' Jimmy said, with all the enthusiasm of a child being told to eat their broccoli. He took the chair opposite and accepted the cigarette he was offered. 'What have you been up to in London?'

'This and that. Visiting museums, seeing old friends, getting up to no good.' His eyes twinkled. 'And what about you, pet. I'm sure your life as an emerging star must be riveting.'

'Well,' Jimmy said hesitantly. Should he tell Theo? Could it have been Theo who'd written the letter? If it wasn't, he was bound to have clever ideas about what to do next. Ophelia had not been much help on that front – she had only suggested the ridiculous notion of telling Thomas everything.

'That sounds like a very fascinating 'well',' Theo said, taking a piece of toast from the plate that had just been brought over to their table.

'Someone's trying to make trouble between Thomas and me.' In his head, he added: _Someone other than you._

Theo might have guessed what Jimmy was thinking. 'And you're sure that these suspicions aren't fallacies construed by your mistrustful imagination?'

'Do you know how annoying you are when you talk like that?'

'I am aware of it, yes.'

'So, it wasn't you, was it? Who sent Thomas a letter saying I was being unfaithful?' Jimmy asked, warily. He'd been taught a couple of tricks over the years in the acting business – how to analyse human behaviour and how body language could belie words. Theo, however, was a difficult nut to crack. Jimmy described in detail what had happened but he could pick up no incriminating reaction from the other man.

'Why would _I_ do such a thing?' He took a sip of tea. 'I should point out to you, Jimmy, that if you act guilty, people are very liable to believe you are. If you have done nothing wrong and that charming gentleman you were with last week was just a friend then you have nothing to worry about.'

Jimmy had nothing to say to that. 'He wasn't charming.'

'No, I didn't think so, but I thought it very bad manners to point it out.'

They continued to eat and drink in silence for a few minutes. Jimmy powered through his toast with nervous hunger.

'Well, maybe you could help me find out who sent it? You're good with detective work,' Jimmy said, hoping that stroking his ego might convince him.

Theo laughed. It was a pretty sound, coy and delicate. 'How on Earth am I supposed to find out something like that? Do you expect me to check it against the writing of everyone in London?'

'No. I burnt it,' Jimmy said mournfully.

'You said it was signed 'a witness',' Theo said, looking interested in spite of his earlier protest. 'Let us presume for now that they are not lying. Where were you when there was anything to bear witness to?'

'The only time anything untoward happened was at Lady Rose MacClare's party, on the roof – and we were together at the pub, but I don't think anyone I know was there, apart from you. I knew people at the party, but I'm fairly certain none of them were on the roof.'

'Who did you know at the party?'

'At least fifty people,' Jimmy said, shaking his head. 'You'll help me, then?'

Theo sighed and languished back in his chair. 'I'm on holiday, pet. Do you know how hard it is to be a grammar school teacher? My arms ache from all the caning I've had to do. I'm on the verge of developing muscles, which would completely ruin my aesthetic.'

Jimmy found it impossible to visualise Theo with bulging biceps.

'But you'll help me, anyway?'

'What am I going to do with you?' he said, pretending to be put out. 'I'll help – as I'm in London and there's really only so much debauchery that I can get up to before I crave a change of scenery. Give me a list of everyone you know who was at the party.'


	14. Chapter 14

Jimmy wondered whether Theo would say anything to Thomas.

Thomas met up with Theo for drinks a week later when he was finally granted his half-day, albeit one which was several hours shorter than it was meant to be. He said nothing on the matter when he returned, and Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief.

He had other things to think about.

The running of the play was a short one, only seven weeks, and a month had already past, leaving Jimmy with the looming uncertainty of what lay ahead. There was always a chance that he would fall out of fashion and never act again. Of course, this time his anxiety was heightened by the fact that Thomas would also be unemployed, at least briefly.

Jimmy was surprised but very pleased to receive a letter from Rose that Friday; he had been contemplating how best to contact her without being presumptuous, and time was running out before the family headed back up to Yorkshire. Her large, curly handwriting asked him to meet her at 'The Four Crows'.

'Lady Rose wants to meet you at a public house?' Thomas said, trying to sound amused and mask his Carsonesque disapproval. As 'modern' as he liked to think he was, he could be awfully old-fashioned about some things.

'Why shouldn't she?' Jimmy asked airily, knowing Thomas could give no excuse that would not make him seem like an old reactionary.

When it came to it, however, Jimmy had to admit that, progressing as the world was, the sight of wealthy, pampered, childlike Rose sitting at a tavern table by herself with a glass of white wine, being gawked at by factory workers and builders, did not seem quite right. She, on the other hand, was plainly delighted by her surroundings.

'Can you imagine Cousin Robert's face if he saw me here!' she said brightly.

With thoughtless generosity, Rose bought him a drink. It was odd being treated by a woman, but it was hardly the oddest thing about the scenario, so Jimmy let it go.

'Do you remember that director I introduced you to a couple of weeks ago at the party?' she asked him as soon as he had sat down.

There had been several directors, each one richer and more American than the next.

'This was a Mr George Valencia,' Rose clarified.

'The tall one with black hair?' Jimmy asked, remembering a man in a sharp suit with olive skin, deep green eyes and a critical expression which clashed with his sudden, easy laughter; a fluttery red-headed actress had been latched onto his arm for most of the night.

'That's right. He wants to see you again, Jimmy! He thinks you have the right look for his next film!'

Jimmy could hardly react. It was something he had always wanted, something he had fantasised about hazily at the back of his mind in the same way he sometimes fantasised about flying or having a million pounds fall into his lap. It was not something he had ever truly considered possible.

'It'll be in America!' Rose said, buzzing with second-hand excitement. 'How I would love to go there – I'm trying to convince them to let me visit my friend Madeleine – she married Cousin Cora's brother and moved to Newport.'

'Why do you need permission? You're a grown woman, after all?'

Rose played with her napkin, looking suddenly pensive. 'That feels like an oxymoron sometimes. If you're a woman, especially if you're a lady, you're never exactly considered an adult. Maybe that's why I'm still single; I'd rather have Cousin Robert tell me what to do and resent him for it than have a husband tell me what to do and have resentment ruin our marriage.'

But she had been engaged once, Jimmy knew. They had tried to keep it a secret, but there were few ventures more doomed than that of an upper class family trying to keep secrets from its servants.

'What about Jack Ross?' Jimmy asked, hoping he was not crossing a line. From her small smile, he supposed that he had not.

'He wouldn't have tried to control me,' she said wistfully. 'But there aren't many like him around.'

They arranged a date for Jimmy to meet the director. The thought of being in an honest-to-goodness motion picture caused a tight knot of agitated excitement to curl in his stomach. Imagine if his old friends saw him on the big screen besides a beautiful leading lady!

Rose was about to leave Jimmy remembered why he had originally wanted to meet her. Feeling guilty, he quickly told her about Thomas' situation.

Rose did not seem at all put out by being asked to find another job; she bit her lip in concern as Jimmy told her how difficult it was for men to find work in service anymore.

'I'll ask everyone I know,' she promised. Jimmy wondered whether he should tell her to be discreet, given that the Crawleys has turned him away without a reference. On the other hand, he told himself, that had been years ago. He doubted they would longer care.


	15. Chapter 15

Thomas was sitting in the living room, staring intensely at a small, brown notebook which certainly did not look remarkable enough to merit such attention.

'What's that?' Jimmy asked.

Thomas jerked suddenly as though he had been in a trance. Jimmy took hold of his shoulders and massaged them lovingly.

'On edge, Thomas?' He did not much use terms of endearment, as much as he liked it when Thomas did; for him, simply using his lover's name was endearment enough.

'Phyl came around earlier. Not here. She came to the Sheridans. She felt bad about Oliver cutting me out like that, so she brought some things she thought I'd like to have. Oliver must have been quite a hoarder because he still had things belonging to Mum and Dad. Nothing valuable, old rubbish that most people would have thrown away. Hardly family heirlooms. Phyl gave me an old snuff box of Dad's – not much to look at, not like the Earl of Grantham's collection.'

Jimmy noticed the small, copper box being turned around in Thomas' hands.

'And that?' Jimmy indicated the notebook.

'It belonged the Eleanor. My mother.'

'Have you read it?' Jimmy asked, sitting down next to Thomas and putting a hand on his knee.

'Some of it. The most recent entries. She was quite vague a lot of the time – she said that she was sad about "the thing that happened" but she wouldn't say what it was. Or she'd write that Miss X or Mr Y was horrible but not use their names.'

'Maybe she didn't want the other maids reading it and getting her into trouble.'

'Mm,' Thomas agreed. 'She only puts one name. She talks about – I think anyway – she mentions my – my natural father.'

That got Jimmy's attention. 'By name?'

He nodded. 'Not his full name, unfortunately.' Thomas flicked through the pages to find a specific entry. 'But she mentions Bobby a few times. Look, here.' He held the book out to Jimmy.

_I told Bobby to leave me alone. I am not an idiot. I know what happens to girls who give in to the flattery of young men, and it ends up in a workhouse or a convent._

A few pages later.

_Bobby keeps asking about me. As if there were not enough girls he could have instead! Miss L keeps fluttering her eyelashes at him, even when everyone else is around. Mrs A gave her a terrible telling off for being so brazen yesterday._

And then later, after a few paragraphs of complaint about work and missing her family:

_It is hard to avoid being alone with Bobby sometimes. He says I am not to worry and that I can trust him. Then again, most everyone say that they can be trusted. At the end of the day, most of them are lying._

There was a gap of a couple of months. The next entry was an angry scrawl, blurred by teardrops.

_Bobby lied. I thought he was a gentleman, you know, honest. But he's no gentleman. Gentlemen wouldn't do what he did. What is worse is that everyone thinks he is perfect, upstairs and downstairs alike, all because of his pretty face. If they knew how he had treated me, they would not be so impressed, I can tell you that! Well, as far as lying goes, two can play at that game._

Jimmy looked up at Thomas when he had finished reading. His grey-blue eyes which could be so cold when they wanted to were filled with eager excitement; they were looking at Jimmy to confirm his deduction.

'In all probability, this Bobby's my father. Getting a poor girl in trouble is pretty ungentlemanly,' Thomas reasoned. His fingers were digging too tightly into the edges of the book, like he was trying to hook himself to it. He was always such a tactile man, with things as well as people he cared about. It occurred to Jimmy that this was the first time that he had seen his mother's writing, tangible evidence of her existence.

'It's probably him,' Jimmy agreed slowly, pleased that Thomas had obviously overlooked 'Bobby' being 'Robert Crawley', and wondering if he could stop Thomas eventually coming to that conclusion.

'I need to find out who it was,' Thomas said. 'It sounds like he worked at Downton rather than being a local farmer or what have you, so I just need to find out who the male staff at that time were: hall boys, footmen, stable hands. It'll be one of them!'

'How are you going to do that?'

'The answer will be at Downton,' Thomas said with determination.

Jimmy did not know what to say. He believed that Thomas would find the answer at Downton – that was the problem.


	16. Chapter 16

Mr Valencia had a soft, modulated voice and spoke with what Jimmy presumed to be an educated accent; at any rate, it was the same accent as the Levinsons used, even if he sometimes stumbled and drawled the occasional word. According to Rose, he was from the Deep South, whatever that meant.

'Nice to meet you, Mr Kent. Can I call you Jimmy?' he said, gripping Jimmy firmly by the hand, his eye contact almost aggressively direct.

'Yes—' Jimmy's answer came out too brusque as he searched for a word to tag on the end – 'sir' did not seem appropriate here somehow.

Guessing the reason for Jimmy's hesitation, he gave an easy laugh. 'Just George, please.'

They drank dry martinis at the bar. Jimmy tried not to cough.

'So,' George said, leaning back in his stool. 'How do you know Lady Rose? Our English Rose,' he added and barked a laugh. He, sprawled but still somehow elegant, his right foot resting on his left knee with casual abandon and one elbow on the bar, looked a thousand miles from English.

Jimmy considered lying, but he remembered that the American was unlikely to care about his background. So he told the truth.

George nodded approvingly.

'A success story. I like it. And so will the press, if everything goes according to plan.'

Jimmy's stomach flipped.

'You're a good actor, Jimmy,' George said. Jimmy could not help but envy the easy charm about him. He supposed that many people in the industry had that charm; they were used to getting what they wanted.

'You've seen me act?'

George nodded, raising his finger to get the barman's attention; the young man was there in a shot with another drink.

'Sure. I went last week – it's a cute play.'

It was probably a compliment, but there was something condescending in his tone that Jimmy did not warm to.

'Of course,' George continued. 'Movie acting, you know, it's an entirely different ball game than theatre acting. It's a big transition.'

Jimmy agreed, playing with the stem of his glass.

'That's why I asked Martina to join us. You know who Martina Ellison is, of course.'

Jimmy would have lied if he had to, but in fact he had seen Martina Ellison in the cinema the previous year – a youthful beauty with bee-stung lips and baby blond hair cut fashionably short. Thomas had rolled his eyes at all the wolf whistles in the audience.

'Martina started her career on the stage, too, in New York – you two will have a lot in common.'

'What's the new film about?' Jimmy asked, simply to ask a question and seem eager.

George leaned forward, his fingers curved as though he were holding an invisible beach ball. 'Picture this! Young man in the Midwest chopping logs one day when "BAM", this damsel in distress comes running out of the woods. She faints dead and he carries her home, where his elderly mother revives the poor girl. So, it turns out that she's been running from her violent stepdaddy. To cut a long story short, the young man and the stepfather come to blows, the stepfather dies, and the young man and the damsel get married.'

Jimmy was spared from having to offer an opinion on this by the arrival of Martina Ellison walking up to the table with an exaggerated swing of her hips.

'Sorry, George, baby, you have no idea what the traffic was like. London's just crazy!'

'No crazier than New York, I'll bet,' George said good-naturedly, standing to kiss her hand.

With a huge and glamorous smile, Martina settled herself between the two men. 'You fellas having fun?'

She was a disappointment in real life. At least ten years older than she had appeared on screen, she had fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Her hair was brittle and yellow and, judging from the inch of mousy brown roots, not natural. Her lips might have been large and red, but they were too bright, almost orange – not nearly as nice a shade as Ophelia wore. _As I wore_, Jimmy remembered, feeling naughty.

'So it was a waste of time, then?' Thomas asked.

'Well, I wouldn't say that,' Jimmy said. He felt as though he had learned a lot, broken some sort of illusion that he had not even realised that he had created. 'But the two of them seemed very false. They were showmen.'

Thomas shrugged, turning over a page of his book. 'They might not all be like that. You don't want to give up at the first hurdle.'

'It's not giving up,' Jimmy argued. 'It's thinking about what I want. I thought I'd have to go along with being a movie star if I could, because that seems to be the pinnacle of acting success. But I don't have to. I'm happy where I am. I'm happy with our life.'

Thomas sighed and dog-eared the page, setting it aside. He turned over in the bed to face Jimmy. 'If we can sustain this life, that is.'

'We will,' Jimmy said firmly. 'We'll both find something. Rose is asking around. In a few weeks' time, I'll be signed on to another play and you'll have found another position. A better one.'

'But you can't be sure of that. I'm just trying to be realistic, but we need to be prepared.'

'Shh – no money worries tonight. Just kiss me.'

Thomas eagerly obeyed, shutting down his anxieties for the night. Or at least he pretended to shut them down, so as not to bother Jimmy with them, and Jimmy adored him for trying.


	17. Chapter 17

Thomas had become fixated on his mother's diary. Every waking hour it seemed he was leafing through the pages, looking for evidence, cross-referencing.

'Right, he told Jimmy one early afternoon, for what had to be the fifth time. 'So, there's a Mrs A, probably the housekeeper. Lenore didn't like her much. Then Miss L, Miss E, Miss F, Miss DB, Miss DR and Miss J. They're probably other maids, housemaids or kitchen maids. Miss L is the one who keeps flirting with Bobby, and she's from Thirsk, apparently. She and Lenore went to the same parish school together.'

Thomas looked up from the book eagerly. 'It probably wouldn't be too hard to find her. Thirsk's not so big, so looking for a woman in her early sixties who used to work and Downton when she was a girl shouldn't be too difficult.'

No, it probably would not, assuming that Miss L still lived at Thirsk – but Thomas refused to be discouraged.

'Someone's bound to know where she is, even if she did leave,' he said stubbornly, batting away the comment with an airy hand.

It made Jimmy nervous when Thomas talked like that. A few times, he almost blurted out the truth. What stopped him, apart from the fact that no good could come of it, was that he would have had to admit that he had known all along and said nothing. He and Thomas rarely had nasty arguments, but he had the feeling that sort of thing would cause one.

'Come along out with me,' Jimmy urged. 'I'm meeting Rose. It's a lovely day for a walk.'

He hoped to get Thomas away and take his mind off it. Although Jimmy had assumed that he would have to drag him away from the book, Thomas agreed with surprising alacrity. Jimmy wondered what he was planning.

Rose, of course, wanted to know all the details of Jimmy's meeting with George and seemed quite disappointed that he had not jumped at the chance to be a movie star.

'Well, you can always act on Broadway if you want to in the future,' she said brightly.

'That's right,' Jimmy agreed. Truthfully, even though he liked the_ idea_ of being well-travelled, he was discovering more and more that, in practice, he liked to stay put.

They were in the park and it was a bright, hot day. Rose was protected by her lacy white parasol, but Jimmy was burning up in his suit; he wished he could have taken his jacket off without looking undressed.

Rose stopped walking and put a hand on Thomas' arm. 'I've not found anyone who needs a butler yet, but I'm still looking.'

Thomas hid his surprise, giving Jimmy a quizzical look but not looking as though his dignity had been injured in any way.

'Thank you, milady,' he said.

'Rose, please!' she corrected. 'Things like that shouldn't matter these days.'

Thomas looked embarrassed and awkward at that, given that he had never minded the fact that social hierarchy existed, he just would have liked to be further up the ladder. It was less annoying, though, when people on the top wanted to break down the class system; it was when people on the bottom like Branson tried to change everything, the claws came out.

'That's very kind of you,' Thomas said. 'But I actually came along with Jimmy hoping for your help on a different matter. I'm trying to discover the truth about my past and I think I'll find the answer at Downton.'

Jimmy was not sure if Thomas had shrewdly picked the right words to pique Rose's interest on purpose, but her eyes widened with excitement.

'A mystery? How thrilling!'

Jimmy was less thrilled. With Rose on board, and it was fairly obvious that Rose wanted nothing more, there was actually a chance of Thomas learning the truth. Jimmy hated to imagine how Thomas would come off if he went head to head with the Crawleys.

Jimmy stayed silent, growing more and more desperate, as Thomas relayed what he knew so far.

'The poor girl!' Rose said, looking sad. 'I can't imagine how difficult life must have been for her with no one to turn to. Do you think your father knows about you?'

Thomas shook his head and shrugged. 'I'm not sure. I hope not, because if he did it means he chose to do nothing. He chose to let my mother fend for herself. After all this time, it's not as though I want anything from him. I just need to know for my own peace of mind.'

Rose nodded in understanding. 'We're all heading back up to Downton next week, so…' she trailed off, deep in thought, then sat down on a bench.

Jimmy sat down next to her, but Thomas hovered awkwardly, not feeling comfortable enough to take a seat in her presence.

'I might have an idea,' she said. 'I'm not sure if I can get you in, Mr Barrow, but I know a way to get Jimmy in. I can book your theatre group to perform at Downton!'

Jimmy was not sure if it was a good idea or not – it was certainly creative, but would it work?

'I'm not sure we do that,' he said slowly.

'I'm sure they can be convinced,' Rose said. She was getting excited now, trying to plan things out. 'I'll say it's to celebrate Lady Mary's engagement.'

That was news to Jimmy. 'Who is she marrying? Posh rich man number one or posh rich man number two?'

'Actually, it's posh rich man number three,' Rose said. 'It's Evelyn.'

Jimmy had to struggle to remember who that was, but Thomas' eyebrows went up immediately. 'Mr Napier. He's been sniffing around since 1912.'

Rose nodded vigorously. 'That's the one. He's been in love with her all this time and now they're finally together. I think it's awfully romantic.'

'Awfully tragic, I'd say,' Thomas said. 'I'm not a fan of long courtships. Life is too short for beating about the bush.'

* * *

Rose was as good as her word. Not two days later, Alistair received a letter.

'Do they even have enough room up there to put on a play?' he asked Jimmy doubtfully. Nobody had been fooled by Jimmy's assertion that Rose's plan had had nothing to do with him.

Jimmy tilted his head to one side and the other. 'It'll be a squeeze, but not impossible.'

'Hm,' Alistair, clearly tempted.

Jimmy remembered that he did not want it to happen, and added hastily: 'It's a lot of effort, going all the way up to Yorkshire for a night.'

'Nonsense, they're paying for everything – handsomely, I might add – and we'll have finished at the Vaudeville by then. Do you have something better to do?' Alistair asked, a little sarcastically. 'Besides, there'll be a whole clutch of aristocrats watching, with all sorts of connections.'

Jimmy's heart sank as the colour rose in Alistair's cheeks, clearly excited. His mind had been made up.


	18. Chapter 18

It was beyond strange to be back at Downton again. Jimmy had assumed that when he left, that would be the last time he would ever see the abbey and all the people in it. Yet there it was, looming in front of him as they drove up – it looked as real as ever, but Jimmy felt as though he were in a dream.

What Jimmy had not expected, and he realised that it was foolish of him, was to see so many new faces downstairs. It was not the sort of job where the lower staff stayed the same, year in year out, but it was strange nonetheless. At least the older staff were still there: Mrs Patmore, shouting herself hoarse at a timid little kitchen maid, Mrs Hughes, jangling as she paced the corridors on the prowl for lazy maids, and Mr Carson, who looked in dire need of being put out to pasture, lecturing a pair of fidgeting footmen.

'James!' Carson said in shock, as Rose directed the actors to the servants' hall, apologising profusely for being a nuisance. No doubt he was wondering whether senility had caught up with him.

The company ate early, so they could start the play as soon as upstairs had finished their dinner. The food was exactly as Jimmy remembered – it filled the stomach but not much else. He had hoped that Mrs Patmore might have put on a better fare for company.

A string of giggling maids fluttered near the doorway as they all ate; Jimmy winked at one and she turned beetroot red.

'Well, this is something different,' Ophelia said bracingly. Her expression as she took a sip of the leek soup suggested that she was no more fond of it than Jimmy.

'How long have they employed her?' Ophelia whispered to Jimmy.

He grinned. 'She sends the good stuff upstairs.'

If the Crawleys were surprised to see Jimmy, they hid it. Although his lordship did not acknowledge Jimmy at any point (unsurprising given that they had parted on very bad terms), Lady Grantham did come up to Jimmy at the end and congratulate him.

He felt as though he were in an odd sort of limbo – yes, he was being paid by the Grantham's to deliver a service, but the guests also seemed very eager to keep the actors around afterwards and talk to them. It was flattering in a way, but Jimmy could not shake off the feeling that he was being paraded like some sort of exotic creature. There was also the disparity between how he and the other male actors were treated, with a degree of admiration, and how Ophelia and the other women were treated. By the cold stares they received, especially from some of the older guests, they were judged as little more than prostitutes. He had to admire how Ophelia bore it: head held high, dignified and gracious, she refused to become what they thought she was.

Downstairs was still buzzing with excitement by the time they had finished their drinks and Lord Grantham, rather loudly, had declared that they must not bother the thespians any longer or they would be exhausted. Taking the hint, they had left, Liam rolling his eyes very obviously.

Going downstairs however did not mean a respite. The servants were just as eager to interrogate them, and Jimmy realised that it would be a long time before he would be able to enact the plan.

Thomas and Rose had decided that the easiest way to find out if a Bobby had worked at Downton thirty-six years ago without raising suspicions was to find some sort of ledger with details of employees.

'There's bound to be one,' Rose had said with determination. 'They need to keep track of everyone and it's bound to go back years.'

It had seemed like a good plan. The ledger in question was likely to be kept in Carson's office – it was not until that moment though that Jimmy had thought about the practicalities of getting into Carson's office and looking through all his books without being accused of trying to pilfer silverware.

Gradually, the servants started heading for bed, the younger ones being prodded away by Mrs Patmore and Mrs Hughes.

There were only a handful of them left then, and Jimmy sipped his beer slowly to give himself an excuse not to leave. The maid bombarding him with questions was replaced by an equally curious hallboy.

'So, do you want to go to America?' he asked, wide-eyed.

'No. I like England.'

The hallboy nodded slowly. 'Yeah. Me, too. I think I'd be scared witless in America.'

'Peter, leave the actors alone, and to bed with you,' Mrs Hughes said with exasperation. Peter looked disappointed but scuttled off.

Mrs Hughes gave Jimmy a warm smile. 'I take it life in London agrees with you, James.'

Jimmy nodded. 'Very much so. I can't imagine living anywhere else.'

'I expect not – and Mr Barrow has always been fond of London, too.' She gave Jimmy a knowing look.

'He still is,' Jimmy said, letting her know that he and Thomas still saw a lot of each other. She smiled.

'Well, I'm heading up to bed myself – you know which room you're in?' she asked.

'Yes, thank you. I'll just finish my cigarette and I'll go up,' Jimmy said casually. Luckily, she trusted him, leaving him alone in the servants' hall.

Seconds after she had gone, Jimmy crept quietly over to Carson's office and turned on the lamp, bathing the room in a buttery light.

He was rifling through the third drawer when the door creaked open, nearly giving him a heart attack.

It was only Rose, grinning from ear to ear.

'Bloody hell! Don't do that to me!' Jimmy muttered, returning to his search.

'Found it yet?' Rose asked excitedly.

'Yes, I found it, but decided to keep on looking anyway!' Jimmy said. She took his sarcasm well enough and joined in the hunt, looking through the dusty tomes on the shelf.

It was Jimmy who found it, an old and heavy book with 'Record of Employment' written on the first page.

'This is it,' he whispered, and Rose was instantly at his shoulder.

Old doubts nagged Jimmy. 'Are we sure this is the best thing to do?' he asked Rose. 'What if we end up discovering something that will upset Thomas?'

'Well, he's a grown man, he can handle it,' Rose said, eager to have a look. She turned a page. 'It starts at 1872, so they should be here!'

Jimmy let Rose leaf through the pages. There was not much information on each employee, especially not further back. Often it was the full name, station, the date they started and how much they were paid. Others had more detail: address of their parents, forwarding address after they had left, date of birth and maybe a health problem or two printed neatly in the margin.

'That's Thomas' mother,' Rose said quietly, pointing at the name written down. It gave Jimmy a shiver. They looked at the other names on the page, none of which were Bobby.

'That's odd,' Rose said, pointing needlessly at the black line at the top of the page – Jimmy's eyes had been drawn to it as well.

'It's a hall boy,' Rose said quietly.

The first column, the one that said 'hall boy' was left legible, but everything else had been scribbled out with black ink.

'Why would anyone bother to erase a hall boy from the book?'

Her question was a good one. What was the importance of a hall boy, even if he had got a maid in trouble?

Jimmy shut the book and clutched it to his chest, frowning.

'We can't take the book,' Rose said. 'But they would never notice if that page went missing.'


	19. Chapter 19

They left the next day with sandwiches for the journey, courtesy of Mrs Patmore. While the others went straight to the station, Jimmy headed for the Grantham Arms to meet Thomas.

Thomas, however, was not there.

'He'll be back at five this afternoon,' the grouchy barman said, squinting as he remembered the message.

'Why, where's he gone?' Jimmy asked indignantly. His only reply was a shrug, and Jimmy was left to entertain himself for the rest of the day. There was not much to do at Downton, and far too many people stopped him to ask how he was doing; it reminded him why he had given up village life.

Finally, a few minutes after five, as Jimmy was trying to drink away his boredom with limited success, Thomas deigned to show himself.

'Where the bloody hell have you been?' Jimmy asked, surprised at how slurred his speech was. He had only had six drinks.

'In Thirsk,' Thomas said, with a slight twitch of a smile, and got his own drink. 'Could you think of nothing else to do today except get drunk?' he asked when he returned.'

'You know me. I bore easily. And there's nothing to bet on in this poxy village, so there weren't many choices.'

The barman glared in Jimmy's direction, probably at the 'poxy village' comment.

'So, what was in Thirsk you so badly needed to do?' Jimmy asked, hoping that his next pint would not have piss in it, and also sincerely glad that he knew for a fact that Theo was in London.

'I found Miss L,' Thomas said, looking extremely smug. 'Her name's Louise Brown – Louise Howarth back then.'

'Did she have much to say for herself?'

'Not much useful,' Thomas admitted. 'She was dismissed from Downton a few months before my mother left, so she didn't know what happened. I made up some story, of course, about why I needed to find Bobby, but she obviously didn't believe me. Before I'd even opened my mouth, she told me that I was the spit of Lenore.'

Jimmy nodded. The drink was playing with his head – he wanted nothing more than to crawl over the table and forcibly shove his tongue in Thomas' mouth.

'She didn't remember a Bobby either, but she admitted that they went through dozens of hall boys and stable hands and gardeners in her time there, so she might have forgotten. What are you staring at?' Thomas asked.

'Your lips.'

Fortunately, the barman had moved out of earshot to serve another customer. Thomas pretended to be annoyed, taking Jimmy's drink away from him, saying he had had enough – but there was a tell-tale flush running up his neck.

Jimmy reined himself in. 'So, nothing came of it?'

'I didn't say nothing. She thought that Mrs Archer, the old housekeeper, might remember something – apparently she had an excellent memory for names and faces. Of course, how we're supposed to find this Mrs Archer is another thing entirely.'

Without saying anything, Jimmy took the sheet of paper he had nabbed from the book out of his pocket and smoothed it out on the table, watching Thomas' eyes light up in wonder.

He began scanning it eagerly. It was a long shot that she would be on that page, given that she may have started many years before Eleanor – but their luck held. Thomas found her on the reverse side.

'Mrs Josephine Archer,' Thomas read. 'Retired September 1889. She was only there eighteen months.' He glanced up, grinning. 'There's a forwarding address. She lives in Harrogate.'

They had already missed the last train out of Downton village, so there was nothing to do but stay another night in the Grantham Arms.

'We'll go first thing tomorrow!' Thomas decided.

* * *

'Do you think she'll want to talk to you?' Jimmy asked, after he had sneaked into Thomas' room. Thomas was stretched out on the bed, one arm pillowing his head in such a way that made his shirt ride up, exposing the gentle swell of his lower belly, a line of night black hair trailing downwards. Jimmy licked his lips.

'Why shouldn't she talk to me?'

Jimmy had heard from Mrs Hughes that Mrs Archer had been a hard and unforgiving woman who had thrown a maid to the wolves when she got in the family way. She did not seem to be the sort of woman who would be falling over herself to help the bastard of that maid.

Jimmy ended up just shrugging. Expecting a harsh rebuke the next day, maybe he should make that night as sweet as possible.

He straddled Thomas' legs and crouched forward, his face now level with the bare skin of Thomas' midriff. He batted away Thomas' attempts to pull his shirt down – the older man always made light of his insecurity regarding this part of his body, but it was undeniably there.

'Dear me, Mr Barrow,' Jimmy chided between wet kisses on the soft skin. 'What would Mr Carson say if he saw your shirt untucked in such a manner? It's quite _unprofessional_.'

'I expect he'd chastise me,' Thomas said, relaxing and letting his head fall back. Jimmy licked a stripe upwards from his navel.

'No more than you deserve,' Jimmy said – he tried to make his voice sound solemn, but could not hold back his grin. Thomas would complain that he ruined it by being so smiley, but Jimmy could never help himself but smile during sex. At that moment, however, Thomas had his eyes closed, so it made no difference.

Undoing Thomas' shirt buttons, Jimmy kissed his way up his chest, stopping to admire the stiff pink nipples – he swirled his tongue over one, then bit, causing Thomas to hiss, biting down on his lip.

'You know you're heading in the wrong direction,' Thomas murmured, pushing his groin upwards suggestively.

Jimmy bit the nipple again, harder, so that Thomas gasped.

'For that, I should chastise you,' Jimmy warned.

Thomas opened his eyes. 'You're smiling. How am I supposed to take your punishment seriously if you're smiling?'

'How can I not smile?' Jimmy said fondly, stroking Thomas, his fingers walking over the curve of his stomach – it felt luxurious, pampered.

Thomas' eyes glinted, malevolent. 'And you call yourself an actor?'

That wiped the smile off Jimmy's face.

'Turn over,' he ordered. Thomas did not budge, his arms crossed over his chest like a sullen schoolboy.

'Turn over, or it'll be worse for you,' Jimmy said again, his voice tight. He almost frightened himself.

Obediently and with a lowered gaze, Thomas turned himself around, allowing Jimmy to place him over his knee, waiting for his comeuppance.

Jimmy let him wait, let his apprehension grow.

It was almost a full minute before Thomas, his trousers around his ankles and his breathing shallow, began to fidget. Jimmy smacked the bare arse soundly and Thomas' breath caught.

Jimmy continued, striking and waiting for more than a minute, studying the change of colour in Thomas' skin, the bright and angry red. The colour of lust. He was growing harder.

Thomas, in spite of his soft mewls as Jimmy smacked him, was hard and leaking – he tried to move, tried to grind his cock into the rough fabric of the blanket.

'Don't even think about it!' Jimmy growled. Keeping the carnality out of his voice was horrifyingly difficult; he would have liked nothing better than to watch Thomas give himself an orgasm.

Thomas stilled and, as a reward, Jimmy stroked the cleft of his arse between smacks, gently as first, barely a tickle, and then working his finger deeper, exploring. Craning forward, Jimmy kissed the cheeks; his neck ached at that angle, but he could manage it.

Slowly, far too slowly for Thomas liking, he knew, he snaked his tongue towards the entrance. When Thomas shifted his weight, trying to navigate Jimmy, he retreated and dealt him another smack, harder than ever. The sound that wrenched from Thomas' throat was guttural and choked, like an animal.

'Are you going to move?' Jimmy whispered.

'No.'

It took a while. Jimmy's body betrayed him, coming and spilling himself over Thomas' thighs; he somehow managed to remain silent and focused on the task at hand. Each time Thomas misbehaved, even a little, they went back to the start. The skin on Thomas arse was burning angrily, heating Jimmy's fingertips as he caressed it. He rubbed his nose on it, careful not to be too affectionate and ruin things, though that was very difficult, too.

The veins on Thomas' cock stood out, straining, but Jimmy had become an expert on reading his lover's body – it was a language he was fluent in – he pulled back whenever Thomas got too near the edge. Thomas would have sighed in exasperation had he not wanted to avoid more punishment.

'Have you learnt your lesson?' Jimmy asked eventually, his hand cupping the back of Thomas' neck.

'Yes, a thousand times, yes,' Thomas groaned.

'Shall I let you climax?'

Thomas hesitated, wondering if it was a trick. 'If it pleases you, sir.'

It was the right answer.

Jimmy turned Thomas back over so that he was practically cradling him.

'Touch yourself,' Jimmy said, his voice low.

Thomas complied, pumping his cock mercilessly and scrunching up his face as he came, sending strings of white all over their pillow.

'Nice aim,' Jimmy said dryly, kissing his lover's forehead.

* * *

Jimmy left the inn separately from Thomas the next day, hovering outside in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner. Thomas, after checking out of room 12, joined him, smirking.

'What's so funny?'

'Just had a chat with the little old lady staying in room 10. We both agreed that there were some sort of depraved monsters in room 11, making the most unearthly noises imaginable. Really, some people!'


	20. Chapter 20

Harrogate had a different feel to it from London or any of the little villages where Jimmy had lived. Yes, it was a proper town, but it was a spa town, owning an unhurried calmness.

Finding the place where Mrs Archer had retired to was simple enough. At the station, they asked a man for Gloucester Avenue, and he gave them straightforward directions.

Avenue. Not a road or a street, but somewhere flanked by trees. That should have been their first clue.

The avenue was not far from the centre. The pretty snowball trees on each side of the road with their bridal white balls of flowers made Jimmy feel grubby in comparison. Nice people obviously lived here.

They were looking for Yew House. Many of the houses had trees in their garden, but Jimmy could not have said which ones were yews.

'Are we in the right place?' Thomas wondered to himself. All the houses on the street were large – not 'Downton large' but many resembled Crawley House, or even the self-importantly Georgian Dower House.

'Only one way to find out!' Jimmy said with forced cheeriness, stopping outside a neat cottage, freshly painted magnolia with an artistic trail of ivy trained up the wall. In the garden, among the vibrant blossoms, a gardener was bent over, weeding.

'Is this Yew House?' Jimmy asked him. The boy, who looked to be about fifteen, righted himself and wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, replacing it inadvertently with a smudge of dirt.

'Nah, mate – that one is.' He pointed at the building opposite. The tall stone wall did not completely shield what was clearly the biggest house in the street, deep grey, dignified, and at least four storeys tall. It probably needed at least six or seven servants to keep it running, more if a family lived there.

'Mrs Archer lives there?' Thomas said, sounding highly doubtful and double checking the address he had written down. It was more a statement of awe, but the gardener took it as a direct question.

'Old Mrs Archer? Crikey, you're behind the times. Sir,' he added respectfully, eyeing Thomas' sharp suit. 'She's been dead since before I was born. My mum used to be her maid, back in the day. The Kelly family live there now,' he added, trying to be helpful.

They thanked the boy with a tanner and made their way slowly back to the centre.

'I suppose I shouldn't have expected someone who retired thirty-seven years ago to still be alive,' Thomas said, his hands jammed in his pocket, obviously thinking furiously.

There was no need to ask what he was thinking about.

A housekeeper, if she was prudent and saved for most of her career, could expect to be able to retire in comfort to a little cottage or private rooms. Yew House was not a little cottage. Where had she got that sort of money from?

'An inheritance? Maybe a – a cousin or something left her money?' Thomas said, looking over at Jimmy, who simply shrugged. Who knew?

Thomas stopped walking suddenly. 'She probably had friends in the area.'

'We can't just go knocking on people's doors,' Jimmy pointed out.

Thomas did not say anything, the cogs in his brain working.

* * *

The cogs in Thomas' brain had come up with the marvellous idea of posing as detectives.

'People will always tell detectives things,' Thomas said.

Jimmy was less convinced.

'What are we supposed to be investigating?'

'We were hired by a second cousin who moved to India and wants to find out what happened to poor old Josie,' Thomas invented.

'Josie?'

'Obviously, they were very close.'

'Nobody is close to their second cousins,' Jimmy said.

'First cousins, then.'

'But what if someone we speak to knows Mrs Archer's family.'

'Then we make our excuses and leave,' Thomas said. In his head, things obviously always went smoothly. Jimmy could understand why Thomas was such a bad plotter, even if he would never, on pain of death, tell him that.

'People like detectives,' Thomas added. 'I'll be Sherlock and you can be Watson,' he teased.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. 'I think I'd be Sherlock.'

Not that it mattered in the end who was the detective and who the assistant; nobody knew anything anyway.

Thomas had been right about everyone liking detectives – they had been invited in by all the houses on the street and offered tea and biscuits while their host tried to make themselves useful.

Jimmy had come up with the idea, quite brilliant, he thought, of not being allowed to say _exactly_ what they were investigating, but implying that criminal activity was somehow afoot.

'Confidential, you see,' he had said.

Everyone they met wanted to give a testament of Mrs Archer's character, trying to offer information from new angles.

'She was a loner, you see,' one woman said in a lowered voice. 'Never wanted to help with charities or local fetes or anything like that.'

'Never had any family visit her, not that I'm aware of,' somebody else told them over ginger snaps. 'And I know everything that happens on Gloucester Avenue.'

'Yes, I did know she was a housekeeper,' a sprightly old lady with a piercing gaze told them. 'I was here when she arrived, you see, when she bought the house after poor Mr Glover died. Such a nice man. I went over to introduce myself naturally, but she was a very poor host, very poor. Obviously, she was not used to spending time with her superiors in a social setting, and felt quite ill at ease.' In the old lady's eyes, this was obviously a cause for derision rather than sympathy. 'She said that she had been a housekeeper, although she didn't say where and I am, of course, far too polite to pry. She said she was left a large sum of money by her former employer, who had no family of his own.'

After a tiring afternoon, most of which Jimmy spent 'in character' until, at one point, he actually believed he was a detective, they headed back to the station to catch the last train back to London.

'Well, we still don't know where she got the money,' Jimmy said as they settled down in their third-class seats.

'No, but we have learnt something very important. Wherever it _did_ come from, she was lying about it.'


	21. Chapter 21

Days after Thomas and Jimmy got back to London, and had resumed with the painful process of looking for jobs, Theo got back in touch. He wrote to Jimmy, asking to meet him at a nearby pub.

Unfortunately, Thomas, as soon as Jimmy mentioned that he was going out for a drink, wanted to come, too.

'I can't write another letter of application,' he said, massaging his cramping hand.

There was not exactly anything Jimmy could say to dissuade him from coming without sounding suspicious, so he agreed.

Theo was already at a table, reading some Latin book while he waited for them. His skin was a bright and angry pink.

'I like the sun,' he said sadly when Thomas mentioned that he looked like a cooked damson. 'But the sun doesn't seem to like me very much.' He touched his cheek and winced.

'When are you going back to Liverpool?' Thomas asked.

'Tomorrow.'

Theo glanced at Jimmy, who nodded – yes, it would be preferable to have heard what Theo had to say alone, but there was no time.

'I've been keeping an eye on all the people on the list, and I have a good idea who sent you that note,' Theo said quickly.

Thomas looked slowly from Theo to Jimmy. He was not angry – not yet. He was struggling to understand what had happened.

'Remember Rose's party,' Jimmy said, bracing himself.

'Of course. I don't get invited to cocktail parties every Saturday.'

'Well, a bloke from work and I were chatting – and – and...' There was no way to avoid saying it. 'And he kissed me.'

Thomas was silent, expressionless.

'I pushed him away – but someone must have seen, because a letter came to our house saying that you were being cheated on.'

Still no answer from Thomas.

'I didn't know what he was going to do,' Jimmy offered feebly, twisting his cap in his hands, wrenching at it like it was his enemy.

'What's his name?'

'Liam,' Jimmy said. _The worst name in the world._

Thomas nodded slowly. 'The young one. He has a moustache.'

'Yes,' Jimmy said quietly, lowering his eyes.

Theo cleared his throat awkwardly. 'Anyway, as I was keeping track of these people, I noticed something. Someone has been keeping an eye on you, too. I'm not sure which one of you, or if it's both – but he's been watching your flat.'

Thomas glared at the table.

Jimmy felt sick to his stomach. They were being spied on! Paranoid, he glanced about him as though expecting to see a man dressed all in black with a pair of binoculars trained on him.

'Who?' Jimmy asked.

'A footman called Derek Stepney. He works at Merton Hall for Lord Merton.'

'Lord Merton? He's an old friend of Lord Grantham's,' Thomas said. 'He's Lady Mary's godfather.'

'He was also at Rose's party,' Jimmy said.

Theo nodded, looking pleased with himself. 'It looks like Lord Merton has put this Derek up to spying on you and, probably, to leaving that note.'

The truth was stranger than anything Jimmy could have imagined.

'So Lord Grey is having us followed,' Thomas said. 'Well, we'll just have to confront him about it!' He looked overstrung, his jaw working and his eyes darting back and forth rapidly. To be fair, he had had rather a lot of unpleasant information dumped on him in a short amount of time.

'What does this Derek character look like?' Thomas asked.

'Black hair,' Theo said, thinking. 'Cut a bit like yours but uglier – he needs to find himself a decent barber – tall, but stands quite hunched, sallow skin, on the skinny side.'

* * *

The next morning, they set off to find the hunched-shouldered, sallow footman. The fact that neither of them had found employment was quite convenient in this respect.

They walked over to Merton hall; it was a fair distance, but they could hardly justify squandering money on a bus fare.

The silence as they walked was not as comfortable as it should have been.

Thomas had been consistently silent with Jimmy since learning that he had kissed someone else. Every time Jimmy had tried to explain again that it was not his fault, Thomas had cut him off with a stiff 'I know.'

It was a long walk.

At Merton Hall, they headed around the back to the courtyard, intending to knock on the back door and ask for Derek. As they turned the corner, Jimmy noticed a man sitting on a short wall, smoking. His hair was just as bad as Theo had described, though in his seated position they could not see his height or posture. The bigger giveaway to who he was, however, was the fact that as soon as he laid eyes on Thomas and Jimmy, he jumped up as though he had been electrocuted and darted towards the door.


	22. Chapter 22

Thomas grabbed Derek by his collar, holding him still by pressing him against the wall – not hard, for Thomas had never been a violent man, but Derek was certainly not going anywhere.

'Talk,' Thomas said simply.

'Gerroff me,' Derek muttered, squirming.

'I will – once you've told me why you've been watching us.'

Derek wriggled harder, panic in his eyes. 'Dunno what you're on about!' Jimmy almost felt sorry for him – clearly, none of this was his idea, and he was close to tears. 'You don't let me go and Mr Jones the butler will be out soon!'

'That's a good idea,' Thomas said. 'We'll tell him what's been happening – and who will he believe – a fellow butler or a sneaky footman?'

Derek stopped moving. He looked desperate. 'I weren't supposed to be seen. I'll be in trouble for telling you anymore.'

That was all the truth that Thomas needed. He let Derek go. 'So it was Lord Merton who made you do it.'

Derek wouldn't answer; he simply stood there shaking, eyes darting longingly at the door.

'I'm going to take your silence as a 'yes',' Thomas said, and Derek was still silent. 'We need to speak to your master, in that case.'

'You can't,' Derek mumbled. 'He's away. He's on his honeymoon with the new Lady Merton.'

Thomas exhaled sharply. 'When will he be back?'

''Bout a month – they're touring Europe,' Derek told his shoes. 'Italy and stuff.'

'Yes, I know where Europe is,' Thomas said testily.

Jimmy was looking about – another member of staff might turn up at any moment.

'Why is he doing this?' Jimmy asked him.

'Dunno nothing,' Derek said sullenly. 'Just did what he asked me, didn't I?'

A housemaid started to come out into the yard, gasped and ran back inside, shrieking 'Mr Jones, Mr Jones!'

'Come on, we're not going to get any more out of him,' Jimmy said, grabbing Thomas' elbow. The older man flinched and pulled away, reminding Jimmy that he was still angry. Thankfully, he also saw fit to retreat, and they got out of the courtyard before 'Mr Jones' appeared to box their ears.

Thomas looked defeated on their walk back, and did not seem interested in being comforted or cheered by Jimmy.

'Not a bad life, is it?' Jimmy said brightly. 'Travelling around Italy for a month, I wouldn't mind that.'

Thomas did not crack a smile.

Thomas was listless over the next few days.

'Well, that idiot didn't know anything,' he said, sitting cross-legged on the couch. 'I'll have to wait until Merton's back in the country to find out what's going on.'

Jimmy did not like the way he said 'I' instead of 'we'.

At least the business with Merton had stopped Thomas thinking about Mrs Archer and the hall boy – he had admitted that wherever Mrs Archer had got a large amount of money from, it was unlikely to lead to his father. It was just another scandal that bubbled beneath the serenity of life amongst the aristocracy.

Lady Rose's curiosity did not die as easily. She had written a letter to Jimmy, promising to find out more about the hall boy, and asking if he had had any luck unearthing new information. Assuming it could not do any harm, he told her about Mrs Archer.

Thomas continued to avoid Jimmy, retreating inwards and becoming increasingly introverted.

Eventually, Jimmy snapped, confronting Thomas as he was walking into the kitchen, holding a letter.

'We need to sort this out,' Jimmy said to him, hands shaking; it was better to argue properly than stew in this poisonous silence.

Thomas looked at him, stony-faced, not helping Jimmy in any way.

'I didn't want anything to happen.'

'And yet, it did.'

'He kissed me out of nowhere!'

'See,' Thomas said, his voice arctic. 'You said that about me – but we both know that you'd been flirting with me from the beginning.'

It took a few seconds for Jimmy to react. Was that what Thomas had thought all this time? That he had led him on intentionally?

'Not on purpose,' Jimmy said, fighting the tremble in his voice; if he lost control now, he would never win it back.

'Easily done, I suppose,' Thomas said. The sarcasm was unbearable.

'I don't know what to tell you.'

'Did you kiss him back?'

The question, shot like an arrow, surprised Jimmy. The sensible thing to do would have been to deny it, but Jimmy took too long, and must have looked too guilty.

'I see.'

'Only for a second!' Jimmy shouted. 'I never would have initiated anything.'

'But you went with him – alone.'

Had Jimmy known? He kept telling himself that he had not, but was that the truth or a convenient lie to soothe his conscience. The attention had been nice, there was no denying that. Thomas had been so busy at work, and it made him feel better that he was noticed by someone.

After standing there for ages, his mouth open like a goldfish, Jimmy looked at the letter still in Thomas' hand. It looked official.

'What's that?'

'It's a letter from Baron Grimshaw. He's impressed by my letter and references and he wants to take me on as a valet for a trial period.'

'That's wonderful!' Jimmy said, forcing a smile.

'He says that he requires all staff to live in.'

'Oh.' Jimmy's stomach dropped. It was not a huge surprise; most employers would demand that. 'Well, if you have to, you have to.'

'I actually think it would be for the best,' Thomas said.

'What?' That hurt.

'Spending some time apart from each other might give us time to think about what we want.'

It was as though a knife was slowly twisting in Jimmy's gut. 'You want to leave?'

Thomas swallowed and looked directly at Jimmy for a split second. 'I didn't say that. I said it would be for the best.'

Jimmy sat down heavily, his world crumbling around his ears. How could such a small mistake have cost him so much?

'When do you start?'

'The day after tomorrow.'

Jimmy did not allow himself to cry.


	23. Chapter 23

Thomas did not warm up at all in the following days.

Jimmy sat on the edge of their shared bed, watching Thomas dress as though he were a stranger.

'I still love you,' Jimmy said quietly.

'I know.'

'And you still love me, too,' Jimmy said, a little less certainly.

'I still love you, too,' Thomas agreed. He picked his suitcase up. 'But I need to spend some time away from you.'

Jimmy could hold back his tears no longer; they fell in torrents down his face.

Thomas grabbed Jimmy under his chin and crouched, so that their faces were on an equal level. His light eyes, still icy, looked into Jimmy's – then he kissed away his tears.

'This isn't goodbye,' Thomas whispered.

'Is it the beginning of goodbye?'

'It's not that, either.'

Jimmy wanted to wrap his arms around him and never let go, he wanted to anchor his body to Thomas'. But then he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him with a 'click'.

Jimmy fell back onto the bed, curling himself up tight.

He did not leave the bed for the rest of the day.

He got up the second day, partly because he was hungry and partly because of the insistent knocking on the door.

It was Ophelia.

'What do you want?' he asked her grouchily.

'Where were you yesterday?' she demanded, walking past him and into the kitchen without being invited.

It took a few seconds for Jimmy's brain to work, and when it did, he groaned. 'The audition!'

'Yes! Much Ado About Nothing! I can't believe you would 'just forget' about something so important. Milk and two sugars, by the way,' she said, staring pointedly at the kettle.

'It's not been a good couple of days for me,' Jimmy said. Considering he had spent most of the previous day sobbing, curled up in foetal position and eating biscuits, it was not surprising that he had forgotten.

'Well, I told the director that your mother was on her deathbed and that was why you couldn't come. Originally, he said you'd missed your chance – but then he didn't like any of the other actors who turned up to audition for Claudio, so he wants you to go in tomorrow.'

Jimmy flashed her a grin. 'I could kiss you!'

'Better not,' she said dryly.

'I know – Tilly isn't the only one who gets jealous.'

Ophelia winced. 'That doesn't sound good.'

He hated saying the words aloud – it made it so final, and he could not bear to look into Ophelia's eyes, to see pity there. 'Thomas has moved out – for now – he had to for work, but he wasn't sorry to leave, either.'

Ophelia touched his hand. 'What you need is gin. Put a good measure of it in your tea!'

Jimmy gave a shaky laugh. 'What I need is a distraction. A job. If I'm exhausted, I can hardly stay up all night crying like a little girl.'

The kettle was whistling, filling the kitchen up with steam. As Jimmy prepared their tea, Ophelia looked around, studying the Alice blue of the walls.

'This place isn't bad,' she said. 'It's a lot better than my place, actually, and probably has fewer rats. Could use a dusting, though,' she teased.

Jimmy chose to ignore that comment, giving her a cup.

'Inverness is lovely, isn't it?' she said, taking Jimmy by surprise.

He frowned. 'Is it?'

'Well, why have a keepsake if you haven't even been there? _That's_ Inverness Castle,' Ophelia said, pointing at the little paperweight on the table, the one which had held the note left by Derek or Lord Merton.

'It's not mine,' Jimmy said quietly.

'A present off someone?'

'A present of sorts. A very unpleasant present. That's what held _the note_ down,' he said with emphasis, and she nodded, remembering.

He picked it up off the table as though he were seeing it for the first time, turning it over in his hands. It probably did not mean anything; it was just a way of holding the paper in place. Then again, they might have used any old rock that was lying around. There was no need to use a paperweight which had travelled so far.

For the first time, Jimmy found himself wondering what the second piece of paper had said, the one which had blown away in the wind.


	24. Chapter 24

_Dear Thomas,_

_I know we are supposed to be keeping our distance, and writing you a letter defies the very point, but not talking to you is too difficult. Even if you say nothing back, even if I cannot hear your voice or read the expression in your eyes, it is still better than nothing to know that you are reading my words._

_I hope your new job is going well and you are being treated at least better than you were at the Sheridans. Most of all, I hope that the footmen there are not too handsome. I do not worry about them being tall because I know that you like being the taller one. Remember, if some tarty hall boy starts fluttering his eyelashes or a comely gardener laughs too long at your joke, that I am the perfect height for you. My chin fits perfectly on your shoulder when we dance slowly around the living room, humming the music because we have not yet saved enough money for a gramophone._

_I still miss you, of course. Every morning, I wake and, for a forgetful second, I curl my fingers to catch you hand in mine. That instinct is as much a part of me now as drawing breath and I do not think it will ever leave me, not if I live to be a hundred. Do you do the same? Do you wake up and frown, asking yourself why you are in a small bed, fitted for one._

_At least I have a distraction now. I have been given the part of Claudio in 'Much Ado About Nothing', so my time is being taken up with learning lines and stage directions. The cast are all very friendly, and there are a few familiar faces from other plays. We have a laugh and they stop me from being lonely, during the day, at least._

_Thinking of you always,_

_Your Dearest,_

_Jimmy_

He wrote letters nearly every day about nothing and everything – about things he had seen or heard which Thomas would laugh at, scathing gossip about people they did not like, and, always, reminding Thomas how he missed him just in case he forgot.

Thomas wrote back – his letters were not as long or as often due to lack of time, but they made Jimmy feel infinitely better. Surely if Thomas had meant to end the relationship, he would not have written back.

A difficulty which Jimmy had not foreseen, one which had made itself embarrassingly evident within the first few days of separation, was the effect of the sudden deficiency of sex. It had been such a long time since he had gone without it that he had forgotten that people lived that way, that it was a possible mode of existence. He soon realised that his body did not like the absence of Thomas any better than his heart did. Blushing – absurd as that was – he had taken hold of his cock, rocking his fist gently over the head and imagining Thomas. His hot, deep mouth and lapping, kittenish tongue and long-fingered hands wrapped in supple leather and the crevasse of his muscular thighs and the tights pressure of his entrance, and, and, and… All those things which had been ripped away.

Jimmy would visualise whatever body part he had chosen, squeeze his eyes closed tight and – for a few seconds at least as his orgasm blurred reality – he was not alone.

Sometimes, he imagined Thomas doing the same thing, which was always satisfying. And sometimes, when he was feeling especially brave, he wrote things down in his letters.

_Last night, I could not sleep for need of you. I ran my fingers slowly down my body, pretending that my hands were yours, that they were your nails plucking at my nipples. The ghost of your tongue was delving into my belly button. Remember that wooden toy we bought? The one I said was far too big? I was aching so badly for your cock inside me that I used it on myself, gasping until it brought tears to my eyes and I tore myself. If you were here, you could kiss it better._

He did not dare write things like that very often. It was not unknown for butlers to check the letter of their staff, especially the women, to make sure they did not have any 'followers'. Although it was unlikely that he would do such a thing with a valet, Jimmy did not like running the risk. There was also the off chance that someone might wonder why Thomas had so many letters, and steal one.

Jimmy turned his most recent letter over in his hands. He ought to just post it but he was contemplating delivering it in person on his way to work. If he headed over at about eleven o'clock, there was a chance that Thomas would be outside, smoking. It was a temptation.

He caved, mentally berating his own weakness as he took a detour to Baron Grimshaw's house, if you could call it a house. It was one of the biggest homes he had seen in central London; made of pinkish-red brick and white plaster, it reminded him somewhat of a birthday cake.

Jimmy had imagined seeing Thomas propped up against the wall with graceful laziness, smoke curling from his sly smile as he caught sight of Jimmy walking towards him. Jimmy was crestfallen to see a distinct lack of Thomas anywhere, and was forced to hand his letter to the disgruntled, paunchy butler.

Consoling himself that he had at least saved himself the price of a stamp, Jimmy turned around, stopping at once as he looked over to the park opposite Grimshaw Manor. Sitting on the bench, momentarily distracted by the sandwich in his hand, was Derek.

Clearly, in spite of the scare he had received the previous week, he was still watching Thomas like a hawk. It was sort of admirable how seriously he took his employers orders, even when the employer in question was out of the country.

'Ahem.' Jimmy waited until he was standing practically on top of Derek before clearing his throat. The footman-come-spymaster peeked up and froze mid-bite.

He was obviously not very brave. Jimmy, after years of trying to be menacing, had pretty much accepted the fact that he was not very good at it, but Derek shuddered like a frightened mouse.

'So you're still watching him then,' Jimmy said.

Derek did not answer, looking around him as though figuring out a means of escape.

'I'm not going to tell Thomas if that's what you're worried about. We're not even on speaking terms anymore,' Jimmy lied. 'Why do you think he's living here now?'

Derek was gullible enough to believe him. He finished chewing his sandwich and swallowed. 'Yeah. His Lordship told me to keep an eye on him 'til he came back,' he said in his thick cockney accent.

Jimmy sat down next to him, hoping he would not dart away.

'How long have you worked for Lord Merton?' he asked friendlily.

Derek scrunched up his face to think. 'Going on six years now. Old Herrick's going to be retiring soon, and his Lordship's been talking about how I'm in a good position to be taking over as butler.' He puffed out his chest like a proud pigeon; Jimmy had spoken to the man for all of ten minutes altogether, but even he could see that Derek was not leadership material. He felt a surprising pang of sympathy for him.

'So I want to do well for his Lordship, don't I? Show him I can be trusted and what have you,' Derek said. He shot Jimmy a crafty look. 'You ain't got anything on Barrow, have you? Seeing as you and him aren't mates anymore?'

So that's why Derek was so ready to talk! Pretending to play along, Jimmy tilted his head back and forth in consideration.

'Well, what do you want to know?'

Derek frowned. 'I don't rightly know. His Lordship just said to tell him everywhere he's been going and everyone he'd been talking to.'

Jimmy, making out that he was eager to spill the beans, gave Derek a highly-edited list of Thomas' movements, only telling him things which he knew to be useless or completely innocent: the marketplace, the cinema, the pub. Derek, not seeming to know what was relevant or not, jotted everything down.

'Can you tell me some things?' Jimmy said.

'Like what?'

'Was it you who left that note outside the flat? On Lord Merton's orders?' Jimmy asked.

Derek shrugged moodily. 'Might have been.' Pause. 'Alright, then, it was. He wrote it out and told me where to put it.'

'And he gave you the paperweight?' Jimmy asked. 'The one of the castle? Was that important?'

'How should I know? Well, I suppose it seemed deliberate. He told me to be careful not to drop it.'

Jimmy nodded, thinking. Derek was starting to fidget, obviously worrying he would say something to get himself in trouble.

'One more question,' Jimmy promised. 'There were two pieces of paper. One said about the cheating – and the other?'

'It was an address, wasn't it?' Derek said.

'I don't know, it flew off in the wind,' Jimmy admitted.

Derek looked worried. 'He should have had that address. Lord Merton said he needed the address.'

'Do you remember what it was?' Jimmy asked.

Derek shook his head in dismay. 'I didn't write it myself, I just glanced at it. I don't remember.' He ran his hands through his badly-cut hair. 'Except, I remember thinking it looked like a lawyer address – it was Mr Something and Mr Something. And it was in London.'

_There are lots of lawyers in London,_ Jimmy felt like saying. Instead, he clapped a hand on Derek's back and thanked him.


	25. Chapter 25

'He was sure it was a lawyer?' Rose asked, a faint crease gracing her forehead as she drummed her fingers on the small, white-clothed table.

They were having afternoon tea (well, Jimmy had ordered tea, while Rose had asked for the much more fashionable coffee) at a very fancy tearoom – precisely the sort of place that Jimmy was a thousand times more likely to work in than patronise. Rose, as always, was oblivious to this. A couple of snooty ladies had given Jimmy glowers of the utmost disdain, but he found that he did not care; they were a dying breed. Then again, perhaps his impression of the aristocracy was being skewed by the amount of time that he was spending with Rose, making him forget that they were not all like that.

'He seemed quite sure,' Jimmy told her. 'Not that it makes a difference, seeing as he doesn't remember the address.' He took a sip of his tea. In spite of the extortionate price tag, it was weak, bodiless stuff which Jimmy judged any British establishment ought to be downright ashamed to serve.

'There must be a way to find out,' Rose said. 'Ask Lord Merton! He must want Thomas to know, or else he wouldn't have left the note in the first place.'

'He's abroad.'

'We could telegram him,' Rose said, waving away the slight impracticality of being in a different country to the person with whom she wanted to speak. 'His family must have an address for emergencies – I'll ask Tim.'

'Don't you have anything better to do?' Jimmy blurted out. He apologised quickly, not meaning for the words to come out so rude, but Rose just beamed at him.

'Absolutely not! This is the most excitement I've had all year! I feel like Poirot.'

Rose was clearly taking the mystery of why Lord Merton was spying on Thomas as a matter of great importance. On the table in front of her rested her notebook, bound in pale pink leather; she would jot down things that Jimmy said on the milky white pages. It was rather amusing but Jimmy would not for all the world have laughed at her.

'I have some news, too,' Rose said, flicking back a couple of pages in her 'detective book'. 'I've been continuing with my own investigations.

When you said that Mrs Archer had retired with a lot of money, I thought that might be a clue to find the missing hall boy. His name being blacked out like that suggests he left under dubious circumstances, so I had a hunch that their situations were related somehow.'

Jimmy tilted his head in consideration – it was a reasonable path of investigation to follow, and they had nothing else.

'So, I started asking around the local villages. I told them that I was helping Edith with an article about working class people who had gone on to be very financially successful. I got a few names, but only two who had worked in Downton, and only one of those was there at the right time. I think this must be our hall boy.'

She turned her book around so Jimmy could see.

At the top of the page was a newspaper clipping from a few months back about a lavish new department store opening in London by business tycoon Mr Sam Edwards, who had chains of his store in Paris and New York. There was a photograph alongside the text of a shrewd-looking businessman in an impeccable suit. Underneath, Rose had handwritten some facts in bullet point form.

'Sam Edwards,' Rose said. 'He worked at Downton in the late eighties before going on to be very successful in business. I've been asking around and checking newspaper archives. He opened his first shop in 1889 on Savile Row here in London, before going to New York and becoming a well-known name in men's fashion there.'

Jimmy had walked along Savile Row several times, usually debating to himself how many decades he would have to save up for before being able to by a suit from one of the sought-after tailors.

'Premises would have been expensive,' Jimmy mused. 'Not to mention stock. He must have had a lot of money to get him started, and I'm assuming he didn't get it from squirrelling away every farthing he earned as a hall boy.'

'Exactly!' Rose said. 'Mrs Archer's dead, so Mr Edwards is our best bet at –' she stopped suddenly. Her eyes widened.

'You're being cheated on? You're being cheated _on_?' Rose said quietly to herself. She looked up at Jimmy. 'Those were the exact words written on the paper?'

'Yes,' Jimmy said, bemused.

'And not "you're being cheated"?' she asked.

Jimmy thought. It had been a while, now, and he was not exactly sure if 'on' had been written. 'Perhaps.'

'The note might not have had anything to do with you, at all,' Rose said. 'It might have meant that Thomas is being cheated out of a large sum of money. If Mr Edwards _is_ his father, Thomas would be his heir.'

'Illegitimate,' Jimmy argued.

'But I'm fairly certain he has no other children,' Rose said. 'Surely he would want a son to carry on his life's work?'

That was a fair point – except for the fact that Jimmy knew that Edwards could not be Thomas' father. Should he tell Rose? There was really no way of doing so without letting her know that he knew the real father's identity, and she might not agree to keep it from Thomas.

'We'll have to talk to Mr Edwards,' Rose said firmly.

'You expect him to just tell us everything?' Jimmy laughed.

From Rose's despondent expression, it was obvious that she had.

'Well, I'm still going to try and find out where he got the money,' Rose said defiantly.

'Is that safe?' Jimmy asked. 'He's a prominent public figure. I know it happened years ago, but he's still not going to want a scandal. And worse, what if it's something illegal?'

'Well, that makes it doubly important!' Rose said. 'What if he's stolen from Downton somehow? Cousin Robert said that they had financial troubles in the eighties – what if this is why?'

Jimmy would have liked to say, 'And what of it?' Incredibly rich people who were reduced to being simply very rich did not stir much sympathy in him, but that would have sounded callous.


End file.
